T/W Blood, murder, and mentions of racism
In the days following your outburst, Alastor seems to be walking on eggshells around you. It wasn't obvious at first but you soon picked up on his hesitance. His words were so carefully orchestrated, each syllable carrying the weight of fear that a single misstep might just shatter your fragile state. His voice carries a silent plea for forgiveness, he had seen the depth of your wounds and longed to heal them as if he had caused them. Yet he could not understand, that he had not been the one to break you. The reality of the situation is that your shattered soul has been silently enduring the weight of its burdens long before his arrival. It was just that now, you had let your facade drop and he had stumbled upon the cracks that time has etched within you.
You had wished to bring him some level of reassurance that it was not by his hands, that you had broken. But that would mean admitting to yourself that you were indeed broken. In the depths of your mind, you knew you were irrepairable but you had always pushed that back. Numbing yourself with whatever you could lay your hands on to fill the void you longed to ignore. Within Alastor's company, you had found a new lease for life, he had been your new addiction. His energy brought a light to your life, his touch ignited a fire within you, and whilst you could not describe what you shared with one another, as love. The care he had for you brought you peace. But now the endless void of pain inside you threatened to consume all of that.
At first, you had worried that the difference in your status would affect the way he treated you. You feared he would feel the need to mute the exuberance of his personality to compensate for the difference in your social status. It had brought you immense joy when he didn't when he saw you as a person and not just a name. You couldn't decide if this was worse, it wasn't that you minded him revealing this tender side to his usually commanding presence but it made you feel weak.
After 3 days of him doting on you, even taking time off work to stay with you. You reached your limit. "I am not some fragile bird with broken wings that you need to tend to." You exploded at him. "It's good to have you back, my dear." His words left you feeling confused. "Have me back?" What did he mean by that statement? "I could have told you that you're not a fragile little bird but then you would have felt the need to pretend that you were okay before you actually were. Just because there might be no love in this marriage does not mean there can not be care. My dear, you are a rose, not a bird. Your petals may be fragile but you still have thorns."
His words struck a chord with you, for so long you had thought your fragility was a flaw in yourself that you needed to hide from the world. But in his words, his gestures. He had shown you that fragility could be beautiful when cared for correctly. He had sowed the seeds of self-acceptance, watered by the kindness of his words, and grew them in the warmth of his care and devotion. You felt a pang of guilt for how you had lashed out at him only moments ago. "Thank you." You sighed, almost wishing he would not hear those words as it pained you to accept fault in your actions.
He stood from the sofa, placing down the book he had been reading, and moved towards you. Taking your hand in his. "It must have taken a lot for you to say that, so, thank you. I do intend to take my duties as a husband seriously and care for you to the best of my abilities as any gentleman should." He raises your hand in his and kisses the back of it. You pull it away and instead wrap your arms around him, your face pressed into his chest. The suddenness of your actions seems to have taken him by surprise as for a moment he does not move, instead keeping his arms in place. You think about pulling away. Was this too much for whatever you had between the two of you but just as you go to step back, you feel his arms wrap around you, one hand placed in the center of your back and the other resting on the back of your head. Both sharing in a tender embrace as he rests his chin atop your head and proceeds to hold you for a moment as though he is holding you together.
You had considered telling Alastor about your nightly activities after that morning. For he had seen you, all of you and he had not shied away. Yet he still kept his own activities from you. Had you not shown enough of your loyalty to him, allowed yourself to be vulnerable around him? Was it not enough...No. You were never enough for anyone. But instead of moping around, you were determined to play his game. You awaited the signs, the signs of him planning his next kill. It had taken him longer than normal. Had your little stunt put him on edge? Now that you thought of it, he had said nothing of your crime. Not even on the radio, he had not reported on it.
But eventually, the night did come when you felt him once more slide out from your bed, his little ritual of grabbing a change of clothes from the drawers, packing a bag of supplies, setting it just by the door, and then coming over to you in bed. Gently running the backs of his knuckles along your face and planting a kiss on your forehead. The tenderness he showed you, if you had not seen him covered in the blood of another man in that alleyway, you would not believe these were the actions of a killer. These were the actions of a gentleman, a caring soul with a deep respect for the women in his life.
You didn't have time to dwell on such thoughts as you began packing your own bag of supplies. You wished you'd been able to watch what and how he packed his bag but as he was getting ready, you daren't open your eyes, even a crack, in case he turned and caught you. Instead opting to try and put yourself in a meditative state, listening to his footsteps, what items in the room he would interact with. You would master this craft. You figured Alastor was self-taught, maybe made mistakes, and learned from them. You could not see his mother doing such things although you'd never met his father, maybe it was he who taught Alastor. Then again Alastor never spoke of the man. You had pried once when visiting Emilie but the once cheerful atmosphere dropped and Emilie waved off the question. So you did not imagine they were close.
...
Alastor ventured out into the streets of New Orleans, the cold winter air was nipping at his skin. He loved this time of year, it was perfect for his intentions. Early sunsets and late sunrises gave him all the time in the world to operate. Not to mention, with the cold, not as many people would be out on the streets. However, this did come with its own challenges. His targets might be less inclined to leave the house as of a night. He had also planned to make this a quick trip out. He needed to return to the house as soon as he was able and would not be taking full advantage of the long night.
At first, he would comb through the newspaper, selecting several targets who were deserving of his time. Usually, those caught up in scandals of some form or another. His next job would be to confirm these rumors, ensuring it was not just tabloid sensationalism, but instead a corrupted soul worthy of his blade. During this time, he would get to know the target, infiltrate their life, and become an acquaintance, being sure not to get too close. But yet learning their habits, day-to-day routines, and frequent visits. Building a mental portfolio of his next victim.
Of course, there couldn't be any paper trail. Alastor still had his doubts about his wife, in more ways than one. It had been convenient how the latest murder, which had not been his own, had occurred on the same night. How she had woken as he re-entered their bedroom. Had her little breakdown all been an act to throw him off the scent? No. She would not have allowed that level of vulnerability just to put him off the idea but the thought still lingered at the back of his mind, a distrust. There was also George, he was loyal to a fault to Lilian and cared for her like a daughter to whom he would allow no harm to come. But Alastor was nothing to him and he could not be certain that if George came across any of his plans, that he would not simply turn him in to the police in hopes of protecting Lilian.
However, he was happy to see her back to her usual self, it had taken her longer than he'd expected for her to lash out. His curated kindness, doting on her endlessly. It had pained him to take time off work but it was necessary to get her back on her feet. She hated the world to see her broken. He could have sat and told her everything was fine, everything would work out and then, she would put that mask back on but being shattered underneath the surface. She was aware of what he did, he could not risk her bottling up her feelings until it broke her entirely. Heaven knows what secrets of his she would let slip if that happened. But by overwhelming her with care, he knew she would bounce back, feisty as ever, determined to prove herself.
It had worked on many levels. By giving her the care she not only needed but deep down was craving, it helped cement her loyalty to him. He would be her rock, the person she would confide in when the bleak nature of this world was too much for her. By being so affectionate, it had also pushed her to come to the conclusion that she was not as broken as she felt after their encounter in the shower. This was imperative. But lastly, deep down there was a part of him that did wish to protect her, to care for her and see her thrive. Should his suspicions be right about her and what she might have been capable of? Then she could become a useful ally. He wished he could stop her from seeing him as a monster, not wishing to cause her any more pain than this life already had. In his voice, his words, his actions. He wished to tell her it was okay, that she was safe with him and he would never cause her harm. He couldn't be sure that is how she had taken things but the fact she was willing to lash out at him, even if only slightly. Brought a comfort that maybe on some level, she knew those things.
There was also the question of her visions. Creatures, monsters, and demons. Was she able to peer through the veil of this life and see the true nature of an individual? Is that maybe what she had seen in him, the monster that lurked below the surface? Hidden behind the facade of his gentlemanly way. The image she had described of him, crimson eyes and sharp teeth with a blood-splattered face. The monster behind the man. Most would run at that visual but she did not. Instead she found solace in his arms, and allowed him into her bed. For as weak and fragile as she may see herself to be, she was stronger than she gave herself credit for.
There she was, his intended target for the night. Mary Hidland, normally he would avoid those of the fairer sex but he would make an exception for such a vile creature, there was nothing fair about this woman. Apparently, she had taken a page from Madame Delphine LaLaurie. He had long heard the cruelty of the servants she kept. Treating them worse than slaves. With his own heritage, this was a target that was close to his heart. It was bad enough that people such as his mother were still treated as second-class citizens but Mrs Hidland had a primarily black workforce at her disposal.
"Mrs Hidland, what a pleasure to see you, quite the pleasure." Alastor chimed out cheerfully. "Oh Alastor, you're out late this evening. Do you not have to be up early in the morning?" There was a level of disdain in her voice. Alastor was aware that the shade of his skin did not sit well with her but he had integrated himself into her social circles through her husband. "Well I took ill recently and haven't been able to perform but I am on the mend and just needed to get some fresh air. However, a lady of your status should not be walking home unchaperoned. Would you allow me the honor?"
Mary looked Alastor up and down, a grimace visible on her face. "I think I would be safer walking alone." Mary could not appreciate how true those words were at that moment. "Oh my dear lady, how you slay me." Alastor chuckled and ignoring her blatant prejudice, proceeded toward the Hidland's house. Confidence was always key. Not only do people let their guard down more around those who exude confidence but it can also push a person to perhaps do something they normally wouldn't.
The walk was silent, Mrs Hidland had scurried ahead of Alastor, not wishing to walk behind someone she considered to be below her. Alastor took long, quickened strides. Every time she would get ahead on her stumpy little legs, he would close the gap between them and she would scurry once more to try and create that distance. Alastor could have enjoyed this game all night, enjoying seeing her face growing flushed as she would try and speed ahead of him. However, this game could not last all night, they were not far away from the house and the area was quiet enough.
He slipped out his blade, closing the distance once more and for the last time as he swiftly plunged it into the side of her neck. Her body slumped into him as she was caught off guard, he pulled her into him and covered her mouth with his hand, stifling any screams she tried to make. She struggled in his grip, desperately trying to fight him off but he watched as any colour she had faded from her face. It was poetic in a way, he thought as he pulled her off the beaten track. She had hurt and even killed those based on the color of their skin and now as blood flowed out of her, she was almost a pristine white besides the few splatters of red across her face, neck, and chest.
Now out of sight of any onlookers that may pass by, Alastor opened up his satchel, producing a bone saw from it which he made quick work of to cut her body up into smaller more manageable parts. Her body would be scattered and consumed by the wildlife. The whole process only took a couple of hours. He had become efficient in his craft, even if a wild fox would drag any part of her back into town. The chunks would no longer be recognized as human. However, he did tuck away a few parts of her for later use. A liver, a kidney, and some chunks of flesh.
When Alastor returned home, his suspicion had been confirmed. The bedroom was empty, Lilian was nowhere in the house to be seen. In order to not raise her suspicions Alastor did not shower yet, instead took to the gardens. A bench under the weeping willow was the perfect spot to await her arrival. The long flowing branches gave a good cover and it was far enough away from the front of the house that none of the light flooding out from within would illuminate him.
He took the time to quietly contemplate how to next go about this. Should he confront her directly? That would be the easiest way but if she decided to lie to him, to continue to cover her tracks. There was a part of him that felt he could not tolerate that. If he caught her covered in blood on her way back into the house, it was certain she could not deny what she had done but would it lead her to question him? She was aware of what he was capable of and to a point, he trusted her with that information. However, Alastor always felt the need to have the upper hand, an ace up his sleeve and that was not the position he was in just yet. Maybe, next time he would take to the streets, vanish into the night but lay in wait for when she would leave. Follow her as she finds her next victim and catch her in the act. Giving her no chance to deny what she had done but also offering her help with the removal of the body.
This was the only course of action that made sense to him. It would not only allow him to get her to admit to him but also to cement himself as someone she could rely on, someone she could trust to have her back in such matters. The more he thought about it, the more he realized he had found himself frustrated by the fact she had tried to hide such things from him. But before he could spiral and let the anger build at the dishonesty of his wife, she came into view. He would clearly have to teach her a lesson or two in the craft, her clothes were clean but the evidence of her kill was all over her face. However, he couldn't help but admire how beautiful she looked in that moment.
He waited for her to enter the house, giving her some time to shower off and get back into bed so she could continue this pretense of being just a dutiful housewife. With his eye on the bedroom window, it was a little while before the room fell dark once more and he could enter the house. Placing his haul in the icebox and proceeding up to the guest bathroom so as not to risk her pretending to wake up again. When he was done, he returned to the master bedroom and slipped under the sheets beside her. She had genuinely drifted off but stirred slightly at his movements. She moved towards him, her arm reaching out and when it found his body, she shifted closer. He pulled her into him, wrapping one arm around her and resting his head by hers. Despite washing the blood off her body and hair, she still smelt of death.