As the months go by, Alastor's kills rack up and The Crescent City is thrown into a state of fear. While it's denizens grow more cautious, the fear still can't stop the parties and nightlife from thriving, each person believing "It's impossible for the next victim to be me".
And yet on the darkest of nights, one after another, they fall victim to Alastor's knife.
When the sun rises and reveals the kill to an unlucky bystander, the radio stations are set ablaze with rumors and speculation on who this killer could be. 23 victims have been discovered but many express doubts that there aren't more. Which is right enough, with the number truly being an even 30. Before long, a name is attached to his reign of terror, dubbing Alastor "The Midnight Slasher". A bit too theatrical for his taste, personally, but it catches on nonetheless.
After any messy kill he takes to retiring at Lucille's home to bathe and clean his clothes. More often than not she's home, and for the days that she's not she'd left him a key to use behind the loose stone on the side of the house upon his request.
Lucille hadn't asked anymore questions since that first night, and it rather seemed like she'd put the knowledge of what he does out of her head. Whether that was out of appreciation for "saving her" or for her own peace of mind, he didn't know. She still worked nights singing in the quarter for pay, but after the 5th time Alastor stayed at her her home, he'd given her money for his frequently increasing lodging.
"What's this for?" She'd asked one morning, frowning at the money he'd placed in her hands.
"My staying here must require you to spend more money on cleaning products and such." He'd explained as he pulled on his freshly dried coat, fastening the buttons swiftly as he spoke. "It's to cover that. Accept it."
She hadn't protested that time, unlike the first time he'd given her money. She'd mentioned that her mother had noticed her cleaning purchases had grown, as well as overlooked spots of blood on the floor at various other times. The blood could be easily explained away -and was byway of lady issues- but the purchase increase couldn't.
On this morning, however, his visit was in broad daylight and for an entirely different reason.
He turns down the alleyway and walks up to the backdoor of Lucille's home, which was the door she'd taken him in through all those months ago. Alastor knocks and waits, tucking his bag beneath his arm and waiting for the sound of her soft footfalls.
After a moment he hears them, then the door opens and Lucille peaks around it. She looks up at him in first shock and then concern. "In the middle of the day?" she hisses, frustration lacing her voice as her eyes scan over his outfit. Confusion creases her brow when she sees no blood stains before she looks back up at him.
Alastor shakes his head, "No, no. This isn't that kind of visit."
Lucille hesitates for a moment before opening the door further. She's clad only in a long, satin nightrobe, her curls pulled up into a loose updo with smaller curls hanging down on either side of her face.
"I was going to ask if you'd like to run out with me on a quick errand."
She frowns again, the confusion back again. "An errand of what nature?" She asks.
"I'm going to attempt to start my own radio show." Alastor chirps happily. He'd been thinking on how to go about it for a while now, having grown tired of being only a listener.
Lucille puts her hands on her hips, "And how do you plan on going about doing that?"
Alastor motions to the door.
She sighs and steps aside, allowing him in. "Let any of my neighbors see me lettin' a white man into my home, then I'm gonna have an entirely new problem on my hands." She mutters, shutting the door quickly behind him.
"Easy, my dear. I'm going to intrigue them." Alastor continues. "I'm going to start a news show that broadcasts the dark and gritty details of all the murders."
Lucille studies him for a moment. "...But... you're the one commiting all the murders."
"Exactly. So what better way to cast the focus away from me by being the main one speculating on who the murderer could otherwise be?" He'd thought on it long and hard, realizing that while the city was quietly in fear of the murders they were also simultaneously intrigued by them.
At his place of work, he'd overheard customers talking in hushed tones about the murders. They'd been speculating on why they were being committed in excited tones. Clearly they thought they were safe because so far the murdered victims had been criminals and low-lives. The attention had made Alastor beam with pride.
"Are you sure they'll let you broadcast that kind of gruesome content?"
"That's just the thing," he says with a smile. "Two of the customers in my store today were talking about the murders, and they're the men who own the station."
Alastor had left work early after they left so that he could put on his best clothes and head there, in fact.
"And... why do you need me?"
"Wouldn't you love to sing on the radio?"
Lucille's eyes start to sparkle immediately, all doubts melting away "You'd let me sing?"
"Of course."
But then the lights in her eyes begin to dim. "Oh but... they'd never let me do that." She sighs, gently touching her face. "I'm not a white woman."
"Who says they'd have to know what you look like?" Alastor counters, handing her the bag he'd been holding. "If my station is to cover mystery, what better to catch their attention than a mysterious singer with the voice of an angel?"
Lucille pulls the clothing out of the bag with an awe-filled expression: A dark red, long sleeved silk dress and a hat with an attached veil. A pair of opera gloves that matched the red silk of the dress are pulled out shortly after.
"They won't be able to see your face or your skin in these." He says, gesturing to the clothing now in her hands. "Go try them on to see if they fit. I may have guessed your size, but I do believe they'll fit."
She hesitates for a moment, deliberating, before scurrying off in the direction of her bedroom. After about 15 minutes she comes walking back in, completely hidden by the ensemble.
"Well?"
"It fits." She says, a smile evident in her voice. "And this dress is so... soft."
"I'd sure hope so. It's silk." Alastor turns around to walk towards the door. "So, will you accompany me?" He holds his arm out in offering.
Her footsteps approach him from behind, the soft clack of her shoes coming closer. The gentle pressure of her hand taking his arm is the only answer he gets.
And now, step one of his plan was rolling into motion.
They loved the idea.
In addition, Lucille's voice had been one more building block that had solidly sealed the deal.
It was a good thing I didn't kill her after all.
Alastor was to start his broadcast that Monday, with the owners of the station set to announce it on Friday. He had four days until his plan would be fully on it's way to being fulfilled. First, it would be broadcasting his kills. Second, he'd reap the benefits. Third, Alastor would finally be able to keep the voices quiet. And Fourth?
Run Amuck.
In celebration of this achievement and as a "thank you" he offers to take Lucille out for dinner as they're walking down the street back to her home.
"I doubt they'd let me in without actual confirmation of race." She says, waving a gloved hand. "You know how it goes." Then her head tilts up as if to look at him. "Besides, mama's going to be home for dinner."
"Well then," He glances down at her. "If there's anything you'd like as a thanks, do let me know."
She's quiet for a few beats before answering, "Well actually... there is something."
"Do tell."
Lucille takes a small breath. "There's this dress that I've been wanting for months, but the shop only sells to whites. It's this gorgeous black dress with a gold sequined design sewn into it and..." She sighs. "I'd love to have it."
"Then you shall have it," Alastor waves a hand. "Lead me to the shop."
It's a short walk away, over in the nicer part of the quarter. The white facade of the shop looks rather elegant, and at the top of the entry way hangs the sign that reads "Whites Only".
"On my arm they won't question a thing." Alastor says softly as he pushes the door open, the bell dinging as they walk through.
A woman with a blonde bob turns around with a big smile on her face, "Welcome to Cecilia's! How can I help you two?" She chirps.
Alastor motions to Lucille, "There's a dress my lady wanted to purchase. A black one with gold sequins?"
"We have one of the two left actually! It's a size 8." The woman says, now looking at Lucille's shrouded form.
"That's exactly my size." Lucille says softly, a happy lift to her voice.
"I'll go get it bagged for you!"
After 10 minutes, the pair leave the shop with the dress in hand. Lucille's step has more bounce in it now than it had the whole day, the dress bag swinging from her hand.
"Thank you." She says, for the 5th time since they'd been at and departed from the shop. "I really never thought I'd be able to wear this dress because of my skin, no matter how hard I worked to save up the money."
"It's the least I could do, considering how you've gone out of your way to assist me with... less than savory business."
She's quiet for a moment. "How long do you intend to keep it up?" She asks, voice soft. "Is there nothing else in life that you wish to achieve?"
Alastor hums, "It's a thrill, and nothing like the type that the quarter and it's nightlife could ever provide. I've been a hunter for as long as I've been able to hold a gun. Deer... they're smart, but not as much so as humans. Though they do make for a tastier meal."
Lucille starts, her head swiveling around to look up at him, "Tastier?"
Ah.
"Well... yes." He coughs. "I've... experimented."
She's silent for a beat longer. "...Did you...?"
Eat him?
Alastor nods, short and curt. "A bit," he admits. "But the rest I fed to the pigs across the way."
Silence descends, heavily, for a minute or two, before she speaks again.
"He deserved it. And worse."
He couldn't see the look on her face, but her words were hard. Angry, but cool and even. It was a tone he rarely ever heard from her. "As for the rest.of your question," He says after a moment. "I intend to keep it up for as long as it takes to quench this thirst. I don't particularly have any other wants, aside from perhaps the fame the radio station may bring. Money is always good to have, it keeps you on top and in the know."
"Does your mother know what you're doing?"
"She does not." His tone is sharp when he says this, but he softens his next words. "I try to keep her away from it. She still believes me to be normal. A good, working man. She expresses the wish for me to have a family of my own." The last words leave a bad taste in his mouth. He didn't have a father of his own to have learned from, just the memory of a beastly man with a temper that ended in bruises and spilled blood when it boiled over. The idea of a family of his own was laughable.
Genevieve Bechard was in her 40s and was expressing the want for grandchildren, claiming the house was too quiet and she missed having a baby to tend to. While she was still a fairly active woman, gardening and sewing taking up most of her time, she was restless. She wanted Alastor to be happy, but he didn't know how to explain to her that he happiest he had ever achieved was during and after a kill.
No, no. He couldn't tell her that.
"I'd imagine that a married man with a family would never be looked at in question when it came to murders, though." He adds. "But a wife would be... too nosy. And you never know a person's true loyalty until it's tested. I wouldn't want my actions to be outed by a woman with no loyalty to me, nevermind love."
Lucille shrugs her shoulder, the moment a small flutter of fabric under the veil. "I want to get married and have a child one day." She says. "Give them a more complete upbringing than I had, with both parents present and loving. While my mama did wonderfully with me, I know it's never been easy for her."
They walk up to the back of her home together and she unlocks the door quickly, ushering him inside with a quick glance around at the surrounding houses. Alastor hadn't seen any indication of life or movement from them himself, but he understood her need for caution.
Lucille walks off to her room and after a long moment she returns. She's dressed in the black and gold dress from the shop now, the fabric clinging to her feminine curves in a perfect fit. Her curls spill down her back, an elated smile on her face as she does a little turn. The beaded tassles at the bottom of the dress sway as she does so.
"You do look absolutely stunning in it." He compliments. "A perfect choice."
She smooths the dress down and looks up at him, her eyes sparkling. "It's even more beautiful than I thought it would be." She says. "I can't thank you enough."
He waves off her thanks, rising from the chair he'd been sitting in. "Keep the red dress and it's accessories as well," He tells her. "You'll need it for the broadcasts."
Lucille nods and walks with him to the door, opening it for him, "I'll see you Monday then?"
"If not sooner." He says. "I plan on heading out tonight to celebrate in my own way."
Lucille's smile lessens, and she nods solemnly, "Be... careful."
"Always."
As Alastor walks away from her home, the voices begin to amp up in his head again. They'd been quieter than usual for the majority of the day, but now they seemed to be waking up. He planned on informing his mother of the good news, that he'd secured his spot as a radio host, but now it looked like he'd have to adjust his plans. He'd spend the rest of the daylight hours with her and take her out to eat, but once nightfall arrived and the city began to stir, he'd be out on the hunt again.
Then would come his 31st kill.