The sun withered and died just beyond the horizon, giving way to night. It's inky blackness was all consuming, save for the lights on the streets and on houses, in windows, and on top of police cars. Neighbour folk stood on their stoops in their pyjamas, bundled up in bathrobes and the like as they nosily pondered what the police could be doing there at this hour. Yellow tape surrounded the house and people in plastic suits carefully made their way around it. The flash of a camera could be occasionally be seen in the windows as they gathered evidence.
Detective Michael Bailey didn't quite know what to expect. He never did, no matter where he wound up, but it was always something incredibly unpleasant. He slipped on the plastic, protective, booties over his shoes once he crossed the threshold, traipsing carefully as not to disrupt any evidence. Immediately, the stench of fresh blood hit his nose, causing him to wrinkle it in disgust. No matter how many times he had done this, it never seemed to get any better. This time, however, it was mixed with something else that was just as putrid—like one of the other investigators had just ripped a nasty fart.
"What do we have?" he questioned, direct and to the point like his father.
"Three bodies, sir." answered one of the plastic jumpsuits, carrying a clipboard. "Professor Robert Keaton and his family. Heavy lacerations are on all of them but we won't know definitively the cause of death until autopsy."
"Business as usual, then." Bailey noted, pressing his thumb against the knuckle joint that used to be connected to a finger through a thin layer of latex. The fifth finger of his left glove hung uselessly as there was nothing there to give it structure. The blank space seemed to itch as soon as he walked through the door. "So who're we talking about? Father, mother, a couple of kids?"
"Professor Keaton, his wife, and a baby boy, sir."
"Only a baby?" After a brief pause, he clarified. "Just the one?"
"Yes, sir."
"That isn't right." the man stated, stopping directly in front of a massive pool of blood in the hallway. Beside it was a table, where the phone was dangling off the hook. Reaching down, he picked up a picture frame sitting next to it. "Family of four. Where's the girl?"
"Damn it…" the plastic suit swore.
"Three people dead, one missing." the detective noted, setting the picture back down. "Have you bagged the bodies yet?"
"No, not yet. They're still right where we found them."
"Now them, I bet I can find pretty easily…" Peering downward at the horribly stained floor, Michael's eyes followed the long smear that branched off from the initial puddle, trailing down the hallway and into the livingroom. He placed his footsteps carefully, taking great care as to not contaminate the scene.
"It's really disturbing, sir." the plastic suit began, "It actually made a few of the investigators sick when they saw it."
The smell hit the detective before the sight did. He scrunched his nose as the smell of blood reached its peak. Upon entering the room, however, he reflexively put a his hand up in order to shield his face. "Jesus Christ!"
All of the furniture in the room was shoved against the wall, making space in the center. Some was still upright, while some small things like lamps and candy dishes were thrown and shattered in a heap. In the room were four bodies—all of them horrifically slashed and drained of their blood. There was the father, the mother, the son, and even some poor dog, laying motionlessly with eyes staring blankly in front of them and mouths open in a silent scream. They were not arranged at random, however. They were spaced apart, each corresponding to the point of an upside down star. The lines connecting them were painted in the red stuff, undoubtedly with the discarded and absolutely soaked newspapers found nearby. A child's paint set was also found, undoubtedly used to mark the smaller, more intricate symbols that adorned the design. Detective Bailey stared forward, brows furrowed and eyes wide at what he was seeing.
"Good Lord…" he breathed, feeling the itching in his phantom finger growing worse. Still, if this were enough to rattle him, then what kind of homicide detective would he be? Steadying his breath, he cautiously moved into the room past the various plastic suits in the midst of gathering samples. Joining them, he assessed the scene, trying to find some sort of pattern.
"Any signs of forced entry?" he asked, glaring down at the drawing.
"No, sir. All of the doors and windows were locked when the first responders arrived."
"So logic would point to them being already inside." he pondered, rubbing his chin. Then, pointing with his good hand, he gestured to the dead animal in the upper right point of the pentagram. "That's the neigbour's dog."
"Sir?"
"There's posters for it all around the neighbourhood. We need to find out when it went missing. My guess is a while before the other deaths occurred, given the wear and tear on the posters. Finding out why it's here might give us some sort of insight into the killer's state of mind. To complete the image? But there's one missing… No puddle on the point, either…" The latter portion was muttered to himself.
He peered down at the lowest prong on the pentagram. The others were messy. Their inhabitants bled there. It could be assumed that some of the might have died there. They laid in pools of their own blood in such copious amounts that it was still wet as the police stood in the room with their corpses. It was only this singular point that actually ended in a point. "The girl…" he murmured before his eyebrows involuntarily raised. Two dots were connected in his mind—the spark of which jumpstarted a state of urgency in the detective.
"The girl might still be alive!" Bailey declared, taking charge of the situation. "We need cars to search the area around the house! It hasn't been long, she could still be close!"
The uniformed officers quickly sprung to action as the detective ushered many of them out of the house and into the streets. He began barking orders to those who were outside keeping the crowd at bay. They were instructed to stay put and continue taking statements while others piled into cars and began to search the neighbourhood. Additional cars were called in and the search extended to the neighbourhood faster than it would have ordinarily. The task was expedited by a few minutes, but it was more than enough. All of them knew that the first twenty-four hours were the most crucial to a missing persons case. So, Detective Bailey forwent his current investigation to temporarily trade in his role. He didn't expect much. Maybe a body, if they were lucky, but more than likely, if she was kidnapped, she would have been long gone by now.
So imagine his surprise when he saw a figure stumbling down the street in his headlights. Slamming on the brakes, Michael's car screeched to a halt, but the sound did not cause the girl to turn around. Quickly, he swung open his car door and stepped out.
"Excuse me!" he called out, being much more firm than he would like. Remembering the "client," he cleared his throat and tried again. "Hello! Miss! Are you lost? I'm a policeman! I can help you!"
The slapping sound that the girl's bare feet made against the concrete came to an abrupt stop when the rest of her did. Her small legs stopped moving and upon further inspection, Michael had no idea how she wasn't freezing. Her hair was unkempt, tangled, and matted together by some dried substance and only her pyjama's protected her from the cold, autumn, air. She paused for a moment as if she were uncertain, only for the revelation of what she was feeling being much worse.
Slowly, she turned around to face the concerned man as he stood next to his car. Her eyes were wide and glazed over. Her mouth hung open slightly. Her face was almost completely red save for the few patches of pale skin that showed through the layer of blood caking her bangs to her forehead and concealing her blank expression almost entirely. It covered the her front, her hands, and even the soles of her feet. She said nothing as she stared back at the stunned detective and did not react when he slowly began to approach her. The one thing she did do was cling to the large tome in her arms for dear life.
Detective Bailey moved closer, wincing once he was halfway between her and his vehicle. It felt like his hand had been slashed, but upon raising it to his vision, there was nothing there. The pinprick sensation where his finger once was lingered, having grown in intensity since the house. Michael furrowed his brow, pressing the void against his other palm, trying to soothe it. A horrible feeling bubbled up from his stomach as he looked back at the girl. She didn't run. She didn't react at all. It wasn't right. It was to be expected, given his occupation, but this simply wasn't "right." Something deep within himself was nagging at him to stay as far away from this situation as possible.
"Stay right there. I'll get some help." he announced, turning back to his car. They way that he could practically feel her vacant, lifeless stare still fixated him-unblinking, unthinking—made a shiver run down his spine. Upon getting to his vehicle, the pain in his hand subsided enough to radio the others, but something deep within him knew that something was irrevocably, undeniably wrong about the situation.
"...And then the ambulance came and took her to hospital." Detective Bailey continued, fumbling with his hands. He could still recall the sensation from that night. It was gone now, but the thought lingered. He told his story to the others in the room, keeping his head down and averting his gaze. He really didn't like this situation-He didn't like it one bit—yet there he was, seated in the ghastly greenroom of the Phantomhive family, sitting across from them as he regaled them with his tale.
The two demons sat quietly with contrasting postures—Jim sat with one leg crossed over the other, tapping his chin in thought, while Ciel leaned back comfortably and seemed completely nonplussed. It was almost as though he were waiting for the detective to get to the good part.
"What happened to the girl?" Jim asked. "Did you interrogate her?"
"No, there's special investigators who're trained to work with kids, but I did go see her." Michael explained. "Whatever this is affecting her, she hasn't come out of it yet. The staff said she hasn't said a word since being admitted."
"Unsurprising. The girl just witnessed her entire family being murdered. She's bound to have a touch of PTSD." The Earl remained unimpressed, tapping his fingers on the armrest of his seat. "Hardly the sort of thing you need our assistance with. So there was a pentagram on the floor? Big deal. Lots of killers use that sort of imagery."
"That's what my superiors said. They don't deem it necessary to involve HELLSING, either."
"Well, there you go, then." Ciel started up again with a wave of his hand, but before he could carry on any further, his partner spoke up.
"Is there anything else, Juniour?"
"No… There's… Not a lot. Just a bad feeling, I got from the whole thing." confessed the detective. "I've seen a lot of murders, but… I dunno… I just have an intuition."
"That's dangerous for a cop. You should focus on facts first-"
"Ciel; Shh!" Jim hushed, causing the bluenette to arch an eyebrow. Turning his attention back to their guest, the blonde questioned further. "What about the book she was holding? Think it's a clue?"
"Well, it matches the description of a book stolen from King's University." Michael answered. "Professor Keaton worked there. That part seems to add up pretty well, but right now, it's being kept in the evidence room until we can get a positive ID. It's super old. According to the folks working at the school, it's made out of human skin. Very creepy."
"Possibly demonic." Jim speculated, glancing over at his husband with a bit of a smug smile, prompting the other demon to roll his visible eye.
"Maybe. I dunno. I don't know anything about this supernatural stuff." Michael said, holding up both hands and shaking his head. "I just… I dunno… I got a feeling. Like when I had that ring, kind of? My phantom finger tingles whenever I'm near that girl; it's… Freaky…"
"But since your higher ups aren't planning on calling in HELLSING to investigate, your only other option is us." observed the menace, crossing his arms. "Typical. I don't know it it's the paperwork or what, but Scotland Yard hates calling HELLSING. That's why your dad always called us under the table."
"Quite frankly, they never liked calling on the Phantomhives, either, but here we are." chimed in the Earl, although still visibly not on board with this whole thing. Although his reluctance was apparent, Jim seemed more open, so the detective turned to him to make his plea.
"So will you look into it?" Michael asked.
"Sure. I've got nothing better to do anyway."
"Jim…" Ciel half-heartedly chastised, giving his husband a look, but the menace simply ignored him.
"If there's anything weird going on, I'll find it and make sure HELLSING knows about it." the menace said, choosing his words carefully. He reached over and subtly placed a hand on his husband's arm and giving it a squeeze, silently indicating that they would talk later. For now, however, they needed to get the detective out of their house. Standing up abruptly, he held out his hand, prompting the human to reciprocate. "Send me what you have and I'll start from there, alright?"
"Uhm… Alright…" Michael replied, albeit somewhat confusedly. Being a polite man, it was instinct for him to mirror the blonde's gesture and Jim knew it. "How… Could you write down how?"
"Give your dad a call. He's got our info and knows how to send stuff to us on the DL. He'll teach you all about working with demons."
"Oh, okay… Uh…" With that, the menace released the other man's hand. The blonde's touch tickled lightly, prompting Michael to rub it. With that, however, came a rather concerning thought. "Uhm… No offense, but…" he started, lowering his voice to a whisper, "I won't go to hell for this, will I?"
"Nah. His cousin's an angel and says it's fine, so I think you're good."
"Oh, really? Alright." The detective couldn't help but make a face as that sentence sank in. Before he could really wrap his head around the gravity of it, he felt his finger twinge again.
"I'll keep you updated if I find anything. For now, though, I'll be waiting on those materials." Jim said, gesturing behind the man. "We had a lot of work to do on both ends, so I'll have Sebastian escort you out so we can get started."
"This way, please." the butler said, prompting the human detective to nearly jump out of his skin. He hadn't even heard him! As he thought, these demons were a bit too much for him, so he thought it might be best to oblige.
"You should wear a bell." huffed the detective as one last act of defiance. Then, with a wave from the menace, he was promptly escorted out with the instruction to contact them again at a later date.
Would it be illegal for him to share those documents with the Phantomhives? Absolutely. Would it be morally correct? Debatable. His hunch was strong enough to convince him to contact the demons, but he wondered if it was enough for him to stake his future on. Maybe the demons were right in an odd way: He wanted to talk to his father about this.
So, he got in his car and puttered off, trying to think of a way to go about this that didn't also shoot him in the foot. The Phantomhives, however, were mixed in their overall reactions. This became immediately apparent upon the detective's absence.
Jim turned around to face his beau, knowing that there was much to discuss. As disheartening as it was to see, his husband did not seem at all pleased with the situation. The Earl crossed his arms firmly across his chest and sulked. Really, he said all that he needed to with just one eye.
"You're not happy." Jim let out.
"Of course I'm not. It's incredibly unnecessary." shot back the Watchdog. "Years of silence and now he comes to us with a blatant waste of time."
"We don't know that for sure. Even if it is, it could be beneficial to cultivate a working relationship with the Yard again. You know that."
"The Yard does not appreciate nor acknowledge our work. It is work that needs to be done, yes, but surely he can solve a murder with such a flamoyant killer!"
"That's true. If that's the case, I'll probably just leave it up to them—unless I solve it really fast, of course."
"This is well below our pay grade…"
"Yeah, but that's part of the reason why I didn't volunteer you for it. Besides, you've got Funtom stuff to take care of, so it's not really a good use of your time. You don't have to help if you don't want."
"I guess…" Ciel had no choice but to concede on that, no matter how reluctant he was to do so. He really was rather busy, so if things were indeed so simple, Jim was more than capable of handling this on his own. "I just don't like it…"
"That's not really your choice though, is it?" shrugged the baronet. "I've gotta check it out in case it might be something. If it really is more than the police can handle, then I can't just leave them to fend for themselves. It's not fair to them and it's dangerous to the public. We can't be having innocent people killed by supernatural nonsense and typically proficient murderers"
"By all means, feel free to do whatever. I don't care, nor can I stop you. I simply want no part of an obvious waste of time and effort. Although I understand the obligation, I believe that you would do well to do the same." the Watchdog sighed, shaking his head. He bounced on the cushion as his husband plopped on the couch next to him. "Honestly..."
"I'm not asking for your permission or approval. As your partner and husband, I am a representative of the Phantomhive family. Therefore, it is my duty to tend to tasks and obligations that the head of household is unable or unwilling to. That's all there is to it. Besides, I have nothing better to do, so why not?"
"There's plenty of reasons as to why."
"Name three."
Ciel opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again, furrowing his brow as he thought. He had his reasons, of course; he just didn't know what they were yet. Even if he did, it was doubtful that he would verbalise them. His eyebrows furrowed and his nose scrunched in concentration, leading only to the inevitable groan he made when he realised he had been caught being wrong.
"Fine. You're right; I'm wrong. Happy?" he huffed.
"Could be happier." jested the menace, much to the somewhat unexpected disapproval of his spouse.
"Well, I'm sooo sorry about that." the Watchdog sarcastically retorted. "You can do what you want. I'm staying out of this one."
"Well, alright, then. You don't have to play along and I'm not going to make you talk about it." stated the blonde, prompting Ciel to give pause.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, this seems to be a bit of a sore spot for you, is all. And you seem to not want to talk about it yet."
"There is nothing to talk about. I'm fine."
"Ciel… Just a little while ago, you were having flashbacks, and we're not sure if your panic attacks are-"
"I don't have panic attacks." Insisted the bluenette with a wave of his hand. "That was just… A small episode of restlessness, is all. I am fully in control of myself and would appreciate it if you would just let the past be the past."
Jim grimaced a bit, smiling while definitely not smiling at all. "Hmm…"
"What? What's that face for."
"You're not going to like it."
"What?"
"You're definitely going to say 'no.'"
"What is it? If you have something you want to say, then you should say it. You can talk freely, you know…"
"Well, it's just… I've been thinking…" the blonde began, still beating around the bush as he tried to find his phrasing.
"Jim, please… Whatever it is, you can tell me." insisted his beau, prompting the menace to take a deep breath. Then, quickly, in one breath, Jim came out with it.
"I think you should try talking to a therapist."
"Absolutely not." Deadpan. Immediate. The idea was shot down before it could even take off. It was dead in the water and rejected without even a single millisecond's thought.
"Cool. Consider my point, at least."
"There is nothing to consider."
"Too bad. You're gonna listen, at the very least." Jim stated, ignoring the roll of the other man's eye. "Point: I had many of the same symptoms you are experiencing now and therapy has really helped me start to deal with the problems I have that cause them."
"Counterpoint: I have a degree in psychology. Therefore, I can handle my own 'problems,' if I even had any."
"When did you get it?"
"Sometime in the sixties; why?" Before Jim could even respond, a look of realisation crossed over the bluenette's face. "While I admit that the field has improved and changed much since then, I keep up with new theory just fine."
"But can you apply it?" Jim questioned. "And not only that, can you apply it to yourself without bias?"
"Please, whatever issues I may have are merely the remnants. It's been almost a century and a half since then and I've been fine. It's trivial. Certainly nothing worth bringing in someone else to nose through my personal history."
A bit of a smug smile crept across the Earl's face as he spoke. It was haughty, it was deflecting, but it wasn't kind. When he finally turned to face his beau, certain of his victory, he was somewhat bewildered to find the menace appearing completely unimpressed. Jim arched an eyebrow with an expression consisting of a heavy portion of skepticism with just a touch of displeasure. He had something to say, of course. From what Ciel could gather, it appeared as though he had several. Instead, the baronet took a deep breath and let it out, turning away from the bluenette.
"Fine. Have it your way, Earl of DIY." he said, standing up. "I can't force you and I won't try, just like how I'm not going to try and include you in this case. Just… Do what you want. As long as you're being good to yourself, it's whatever, y'know?"
Casually, the menace stretched his arms over his head as he stood, making absolutely no fuss about the situation, yet Ciel couldn't help but get a feeling in his stomach that something was wrong. They way the menace simply got up and started walking away made Ciel feel uneasy. He thought it made him seem needy or indicative of him being unnecessarily codependent on his spouse, but he didn't like it. He wasn't done yet, but Jim cut things short.
"I'm going to see if I can find anything on the university website about it." Jim informed, heading toward the doors. "I'll see you at dinner."
"Alright…" replied the somewhat perplexed bluenette, watching after him. "See you then…"
Ciel was alone, now—Alone in his correctness. He understood what Jim was suggesting and knew that he was only trying to help, but this was not a problem that needed to be handled in such a manner. Jim would eventually come around to realise that Ciel knew what he was talking about. While therapy was indeed a wonderful option for some—and Ciel understood that it had indeed helped Jim immensely—only Ciel knew his own mind so completely and it was his firmest belief that he could handle it on his own. After all, how long had it been since that occurred? He barely remembered life from "before." The "after" and the "now" is what made him. It was simple as that. It seemed a bit excessive to liken that to the case at hand. Some little girl's family had been murdered, after all. Wasn't that sort of disrespectful?
"Right…" The Watchdog nodded to himself and stood as well, believing that he should take this moment of respite to tend to his own work as well. He got up, ventured to his office, and sat down to tend to his business, hoping to have a very profitable Christmas season while already launching his Halloween wares. Things were looking bright. The money would be plentiful and it would be yet another successful year for the Phantomhive. All the while, Jim was researching the tidbits about the crime that had reached the news without Ciel. The Watchdog hoped he found something useful, even if if it was doubtful that there was supernatural tomfoolery afoot.
Meanwhile, the work kept him busy. Separate from his spouse, Ciel kept himself busy. He tended to finances, approved finalised designs, read reports, and listened to product pitches. It was tedious, but it kept his family powerful, even without HELLSING and the Convention of Twelve. He added more to his already absurd piles of money, but not without purpose. Humans could never even attempt to spend this sort of money in their lifetimes, but he had a family of demons to provide for through the ages. With that in mind, it made it easier to get through the slog without complaint, these days. Yet, at the same time, it was easy to get lost in, especially when he didn't feel like talking.
Ciel knew the menace was upset with him, you see. Thus, he simply let Jim be upset. Knowing the blonde, he would eventually come tell the Earl what was the matter, and if he didn't, it was best to make sure everyone was cooled off by nightfall when the grownups could stay up and discuss family matters. Ciel felt strong in his convictions, so he wasn't in too big of a hurry to confront the menace. At the same time, however, he found it difficult to ignore the strange feeling that bubbled in the pit of his stomach. It was a trivial matter, however, because the work would help him ignore it. The work would keep him occupied and the work would help them live. The great and terrifying thing about the work, though, was that it useful to him in more ways than he could even imagine; So before he even knew it, he obliviously accepted the burrow it offered him with great enthusiasm, appreciating the concealment his office gave him from the rest of the world, like some stuffy, wooden, fortress within the fortress that was the Phantomhive home. Luckily for him, that included the relentless pursuit of the great unknown dwelling inside of him. It slithered in darkness and rot like some Lovecraftian horror as it quietly lapped at the painful recesses of memory, taunting him, threatening him, and otherwise making its presence known to his peripherals, all the while making him aware somewhere deep within him, that one of these days when he least needs or expects it, it will at last bear it's hideous fangs and it will bite.
A/N: Greetings, weebs.
I don't really fave a lot to say in the A/Ns a lot of the time. I feel like sometimes, I'm just letting you all know that I am in fact alive and well. That's all I really wanted to say lol. I had hell week at work week before last, and this past week I've been playing catch up. So much paper... Anyways, I hope you're all doing alright and hope to see y'all next time!
Until the next chapter, my duckies~!
