Yeah, so, here is the second part of this story, "Each a monster". Unlike "Adjusting to our reality", it's still in progress. For now, there are 22 chapters out of 39 written. I'll post up to the eight one today. Enjoy.
Alaric and Damon finally knew they loved each other. Alaric was alive. Damon was alive. Great. Everything should be perfect, and happily ever after, though Damon was a bit of a psychotic vampire and Alaric was somewhat cursed like the rest of his family. But. Because there's a but. No fun if there's no but. But Stefan was somewhere off with Klaus, Elena was sad, stuff and shit happened as always in Mystic Falls, and, worst of all, Alaric believed Damon to be dead and ran off to his family, or, more accurately, his family came to pick him up and ask him to "erase" somebody.
What could go wrong, now?
"Each a ghost, and awe-stricken at the other ghost!", Nathaniel Hawthorne, The Scarlet Letter
So, back to business. My exams are almost over, I'm done ( not ) studying, and I filled my head with Death Eaters and the Dark Arts, so I'll try not to have Sirius popping up in this story, I promise.
Missed me?
Each a monster, part 1: If only
Alaric walked into the main house to find two detectives talking with one of his second cousins.
The house was an old and noble three floors building on the outskirts of Boston. A front door made of dark wood opened on a hall with two grandeur staircases leading to the first floor.
It had been so long since Ric had come here, he had almost forgotten how bloody pretentious it was. He was sure Damon would have loved it.
More importantly, Landyn hadn't lied. The police was really becoming aware of them, though they surely weren't expecting... well, that everybody living in this house, save the ones who had married into the Saltzman Family, was or would be a killer at some point.
"Detectives. I didn't think I would have the pleasure to see you today."
They told her the murder in Wilmington wasn't Mobile Maker's, the autopsie was clear about that, and the young man witnessed on the crime scene had probably nothing to do with the famous serial killer, though he might have been involved in this particularly violent murder.
Alaric watched as her aunt freaked the detectives out by being perfectly civil and yet ominously formidable. He would have smirked if he hadn't been back here, in the house he had sworn to never come back to. He would have smirked if he hadn't been part of the said family and hadn't been here because his aunt wanted him to kill a copycat. He would have smirked if Damon hadn't been dead, as was Jenna, as was Isobel. Yes, it might have been funny if he had actually cared.
His cousin, still standing next to the detectives, glanced at the door when Andrea shut it close. His eyes squinted when he noticed who – that is to say, Alaric – was next to Othaniel and his sister. A look of disbelief ran through his features.
A door opened on the second floor.
Another one of the bloody Saltzmans. Another one of his own people.
How many were living here now? Ten? Twenty? Maybe more, surely more, since Landyn had called for everyone. By now, most of the family was surely home. How many adults, exactly? He couldn't remember very well, after all, some of his younger cousins were surely grown up now. Something like... thirty-eight people, kids aside?
Doors were opening on every floor, and he caught sight of a glare from Cassandre, up there, standing on the second stairs next to her brother – needless to say, the glare was for said brother.
For a second, Alaric wished someone could be with him. But the important "someone" couldn't, because "someone" was dead. So the hunter wished it away.
Damon wouldn't come back from the dead because he wished so. Not this time.
Ric noticed the place had become silent, and everyone – detectives included – was looking at him. The facial expressions were diverse. Shock. Glee. Scorn. Amongst others. It didn't matter, really.
"What are you looking at? Some of you forgot I'm part of this goddamn family too, or are you only waiting for bugs to fly into your mouths?"
Whispers were heard, but no one actually dared to say anything.
Alaric was the one Landyn had decided to give the task to. Alaric was as dangerous as anyone else here. In fact, Alaric was more than that, because he was Alaric, and Alaric was one of the best – or worst, eitherway – Saltzmans living. He was propably stronger than most of his relatives.
And they knew it, as they had known that he hadn't lost his edge, or at least had regained it since then, with only one glance.
It didn't matter that they didn't like his choices. He was here, the strongest, and the place was silent.
"Alaric, come here, we need to talk. Meet detectives... Dawson and Granger, right? I'm sorry I couldn't help you more... with everything the police does to keep us safe."
The detectives left as soon as they could, a bit bewildered.
Ric sighed, and went along as Landyn asked him and a few others to come into her office, just opposite to the front door, between the two staircases.
He sat down in a comfy armchair and waited.
The room was darker than he remembered. Maybe his aunt had had the curtains changed.
Janice, who was his father's cousin, and her brother Archibald took the seats on his right, while Theodoric and Archibald's son Galfrid sat on his left. Landyn, already sitting in her own armchair behind a rather impressive desk, stayed silent and looked at the five Saltzmans in front of her.
The hunter wasn't impressed. It was an usual way to behave for the main house. Creepily.
After a short while, during which no one had dared to speak – or, maybe, cared to speak – Landyn locked her gaze on Theodoric.
"Someone made a mistake."
Everybody reacted the same way and allowed themselves to glare at Theo.
Ric was simply curious, if a bit disgusted with the wording. A mistake, really? He had made a mistake when he had married Isobel. Theodoric was a freaking hitman. That wasn't a mistake.
He turned his head a little to look at his cousin.
Theodoric was a splendid young man, twenty-seven years old, dark hair, same length as his sister's, but brown eyes. He was also as conceited as a man could be, and didn't seem the least ashamed with the criticism. Sure, there was a problem, but it certainly wasn't his fault, was it?
Since when had he lost an eye? Alaric wondered when he realized the long hair hidding half of the young man's face wasn't a fashion trend, and that the piece of black cloth was actually an eyepatch.
Not that he cared. Theo had surely deserved it.
How many people had he murdered for money in nine years? Dozens? Hundreds?
The hunter tried not to grumble at the thought. He couldn't do anything about it without revealing to the world that the Saltzmans were a bunch of programmed killers. And even though it was the truth, some of them – himself included, he hoped – were actually decent guys who didn't deserve to be killed as a threat or used as experiments in order to discover if a killing gene was available for the army or whatever.
Sure, he could still kill Theodoric.
But that would be a bit troublesome, with the family and the authorities and well, the young man was still his cousin. A shame, really. But family, and all. Don't go off murdering your family, it never ends well. Stefan could give evidence, actually, with the whole ripper thing.
Alaric got the thought of the youngest Salvatore out of his head before the oldest tagged along.
"I understand you want my help with this... mistake?"
"Indeed, Alaric. And despite our best efforts, we were unable to track down the copycat. We'll get him eventually, but I'd like it to end as soon as possible. I don't appreciate having officials coming in and out as they wish for an investigation that someone from this family caused."
So she recognized Ric was supposedly the best suited for the job.
The hunter glanced at Theodoric, stiff as a board and apparently a bit annoyed with their aunt for blaming him. As if he had nothing to do with that.
"Do you have the crime scenes' photographs and the police reports for each murder?"
Landyn handed him a file. Alaric began going through it, still asking questions here and there.
"This one is Little Theo's, this one too, but not this one, right?"
The police detectives on the case had believed it was the same culprit and called for the FBI, but the copycat who used the serial killer Mobile Maker as a cover had made a mistake the police couldn't possibly notice, not before some more years of investigation.
The thing was that Mobile Maker wasn't a serial killer. He was one of the aliases Theodoric used to disguise his assassinations. A hitman, and seven serial killers, each known across the world. Only the employer knew that the murder wasn't the work of a serial killer but of the man he had hired. And Mobile Maker, Black Player, Lady Chance and the four others were all Theodoric, yet no one had ever thought of a possible connection between their killings.
And with that in mind, Alaric could very simply distinguish the copycat and his cousin's works.
For eight of the lastest murders, the motives didn't add up with a hitman, even if it usually was correct from what the police knew. Besides, Mobile Maker's killing rate had gone way above what was reasonable during the last year. Theodoric would never have used the same alias so frequently.
"He did a good job with the dismemberment, I must say. It really looks like your work."
Which wasn't exactly a compliment for neither of the killers, the original or the copycat.
What kind of barbarian dismembered their victim before drilling the bones and stringing up the body parts in a dark alley?
Some psychotic copycat, apparently, and a very conscientious hitman willing to hide his felony behind the acts of said barbarian. Who was the more disturbing killer, Alaric didn't know. You had to be mad crazy to do such a thing, and enjoy it. The copycat was disturbing, yes. But thinking that Theodoric got no satisfaction or pleasure – being a Saltzman – from doing it and yet went to the trouble of blood everywhere and body parts and desecrating even more the body, was as disturbing.
And thinking that he would have to do the same with the freaking copycat's corpse once he'd have found out where the bastard intended to strike next was really disturbing too.
Not that he cared. His name was Alaric Saltzman. Death wasn't an issue for him.
A face, ice-blue eyes, long lashes, raven black hair came to his mind.
Correction. Death wasn't an issue as long as it wasn't the death of someone he cared for.
"Anything else?"
"He uses a three deaths pattern, when Theodoric doesn't. No need for additional victims if there is no money to make. Two were already announced in Philadelphia, so you should hurry. He's likely to act again next week."
Alaric looked at Janice. It had been years since he had last seen her. He couldn't really say he had missed her hoarse voice and her pragmatic idea of contract killing.
The hunter sighed, closed the file and headed out. Landyn was apparently done with the session, so he could just leave, kill a shitty serial killer hiding behind the name of a fake serial killer, come back, take a random chamber, and sleep upon his misfortune in love till the end of his life.
A second before he pushed the door, Theodoric talked.
Ric gnashed his teeth. So much smugness from his hitman of a cousin was definitely insufferable. One of those days, they'd have a match and Theo would have his ass handed to him.
"You couldn't even find the guy who killed your wife, and you'd want me to believe you can find this copycat? My copycat?"
The young man was obviously pissed at not being the one to greet the usurper, but that was no reason to provoke Alaric into breaking his nose with a punch. He had done it before, he could do it again. Theodoric was good, no doubt, he was even great at fighting if compared with human-level fighters, but amongst the family, he wasn't the strongest. Only one of the worst ones.
Ric sneered, but didn't turn around, still looking at the door panel in front of him.
Who had been killing freaking vampires during the last months? Who had always been better than the kid, even taking into account the four years age gap between them?
And hell, Isobel and Damon weren't the kid's business.
"I found him."
"You did?"
Theo sounded taken aback, and Alaric was pretty sure Archibald and Janice had begun to whisper.
"He's dead."
"You killed him?"
If only. If only he had killed Damon that first time, or if he had left Mystic Falls as soon as Isobel had turned up and made herself clear about their shitty wedding.
He surely wouldn't be in this state now. Not caring about anything, not even about being given the task to dismember a fake real serial killer by his aunt, or about the fact that he wasn't affected.
"He hadn't actually killed her, so I didn't. Instead, I fell in love with him. And then he died."
Roc wasn't going to let them say anything. He went out of the office, slammed the door, made his way to the front door as the entrance was crowded with unhealthily curious family members and left. He had a killer to kill.
And a phone call to make to Elena. He couldn't ignore what he had overheard from the detectives as they had left the house earlier. The suspect they talked about seemed to look a lot like Stefan.
"Ric, are you alright?"
"No. But you need to know I just heard of a crime scene, most likely Stefan's. I'll send you the location in an email."
"Wait, Alaric, about Damon, he..."
Alaric hung up.
