Happy Valentine's Day to everyone and anyone to that reads the story. Now I want to share something personal with you. Some of my readers realize that I have slowed down quite a bit, and there is a good reason for that. Now I want to clarify that I'm not looking for sympathy; I just want to explain why I slowed down. The truth is on December 13th, 2021. I lost my wife of six years to a massive stroke. I still am not the same person I used to be since they're lost, and I don't think I ever will be again. I know Valentine's Day is hard for some people, especially when you're alone on it, so I just want anyone reading this to know that you are loved and cared about. I'm also always open to discussing anything and everything if you want to talk or just need to vent to somebody.
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Alastor would've loved to have been able to keep his victims alive and subdued in that little cabin in the woods, going back every night to have his fill of flesh and sin. But he knew it was simply too suspicious, the drive in and out of town taking him quite some time. Anyone might notice his absence, whether that was the people who lived in his building, his coworkers, or anyone else. Of course, he could hypnotize Albert to vouch for him, and he would never miss a day of work, but he was still overly cautious, as one had to be when murdering people.
After removing his blood-stained raincoat and confirming that he hadn't a drop of blood on him, he cleaned himself as best he could in the dingy little bathroom of his cabin with the special soap he had gotten that he found best scrubbed out the blood, even from the small crevices of his fingers. Of course, there wasn't a lot that he could do about the smell. The movies he had rarely watched ever spoke of the smell of death that lingers on the torturer, and the tortured-burned skin had its own particular smell, and blood left its metallic tinge even if it was not visible.
He hoped that the long walk back in the fresh air would get rid of the musty smell, and he always had on him a small vial of perfume. He would spray a bit on key points of his body before going to work. He put on his good shoes (the ones that he didn't use to chase people in a swamp) once he was back in the car and put all his fresh new meats in the trunk.
That was how he carried his plans forward the night after going to the cabin. After work, during the afternoon, he would go back to the parking lot, fetch his suitcase filled with air-tight containers full of meats, and then store it in the freezer of his house. And so he carried out as he was used to, chipper as could be, singing to himself in the car and on the walk back home in the morning. He stopped by a coffee shop since he arrived at the city quite early, hoping that the coffee fumes would opaque whatever smells he had carried with him.
He took a big mug of coffee, smiling incessantly at his servers and tipping well. When a man approached him, he was just sitting at his booth, ruminating over the wonderful events of the previous evening. Alastor had been watching him from the corner of his eye when he realized he had been walking towards him, but he acted surprised when the man spoke to him.
He was rather irritated at having another person come and spoil his alone time, but he was nothing if not polite and smiled at him, too. "Hey, can I sit here?" The man asked. He was short and thin, with a pock-marked face and curious brown eyes. He looked rather like a slim mole. Alastor, never one to be taken off guard, took in the man's random request with grace. "Of course," he said, extending his hand to the seat before him. "Thanks," the man said, sitting down as he balanced the scalding cup of coffee in his hand. "Say, that's a nice cane." "Thank you," Alastor replied politely, looking laid-back as can be, but his mind was on full alert mode. "You got a limp or something?" The man asked, leaning forward and sipping on his coffee.
If there was something that Alastor didn't like, it was people that asked too many questions. Especially strangers that asked questions. Was it possible that this was just one of those men that liked to chitchat with random people as he had his coffee? Alastor doubted it, somehow, though he couldn't quite put his finger on why. "No, not really," Alastor replied with another smile, "I just like the support, I suppose." The man nodded but betrayed himself by looking a little too keenly at the cane.
It was more than simple curiosity, Alastor thought. "You know, I make a point never to be rude. Allow me to introduce myself. Alastor Cormier," he stretched his hand out to the man. Another serial killer in his situation would've wanted to preserve his anonymity. Still, Alastor fell just a little short of being a public figure, so his identity was always out in the open. He had a feeling this man knew exactly who he was, too. Better to dissuade him by being honest. "Gary Ridley," the man said, shaking his hand. It was clammy. "Pleasure to meet you, Gary." "You too. You know, you feel really familiar.
Do I know you from somewhere?" "I think it may be my voice. I work for Star radio," Alastor said casually as he sipped his coffee. This was a routine conversation that he had with any new person, and with this unsavory new character, Alastor didn't care much for it. But it did take a turn. "No, I don't think it's that," the man said, leaning forward. Alastor looked at him sharply. "Well, I'm afraid to say I don't recognize you from anywhere. What do you do, Mr. Ridley?" "I work for the government," Ridley replied, leaning back. Alastor tensed.
That was a vague answer if he had heard one, and Alastor was a master of vague answers. He knew one thing for certain: no one who worked for the government said they worked for the government - they were garbage collectors, politicians, cops, whatever. That led Alastor to question what government he worked for. His mind flickered somewhere, but he refused to believe his supposition to be the truth. "Oh?" He simply asked.
He wasn't going to bite. The sooner he could get out of here, the better. It was about time for him to head to the station, anyway. He could help set up. "In any case, my good friend, I have work to do, if you'll excuse me." He left the money with a hefty tip on the table and stood up. Much to his dismay, the man followed him outside. "Say!" The man said, rushing to keep up with Alastor's long legs. "That cane sure is interesting." Alastor would've growled at him if he wasn't so good at keeping his composure.
He was eager to shake him off like he would an annoying tic. "Yes, I am very fond of it," Alastor said, looking around so that he might cross the street. This certainly was not the attitude of someone who had just wanted a chat over his cup of coffee. In fact, Alastor was certain that he had left most of his coffee unfinished to chase after him. If this was a detective, he was obvious and irritating.
Alastor wracked his brain for a polite excuse to get rid of him, but he came up empty. He wouldn't follow him into his work, would he? He couldn't have been following him from the cabin, either, right? No, that was impossible - Alastor would've noticed someone on his tail.
Still, the whole thing made him uncharacteristically anxious. "You know," the man insisted, huffing beside him. "It is beautiful. Almost… mystical. Magical, one could even say." Alastor frowned at him, trying to convince his face to play the role of a dumbfounded person. "Uhm, yes, if you're a bit dramatic with your usage of words," Alastor permitted, pretending like he had begun to think that the man was crazy. Could he really be speaking to another wizard?
After all this time? "But you know what I'm talking about?" "I'm afraid to say, I don't, not really," and Alastor lengthened his stride. Maybe he could get the man to get so out of breath he wouldn't follow him anymore on those squat little legs of his. "I think you do," the man persisted, his face morphing with determination. At that, Alastor halted and stared at him with much-suppressed annoyance. "I don't know what you're talking about, but I can assure you this cane is just normal. Now, if you'll excuse me," he said and began walking back again. Thankfully, the man stood in the middle of the sidewalk, looking after Alastor's receding figure
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What with the thrill he had had last night, his sleeplessness, and the odd encounter with Mr. Ridley, Alastor had nearly forgotten all the excitement of Friday night's dinner. He only remembered when Mr. Bradley came up to him, cigarette in hand, and politely asked whether he had received his invitation.
He admitted to having been a little drunk when he gave Montenegro his details and wanted to make sure everything had gone right. Alastor told him that he had received a beautiful letter with the address and time and that he neededn't worry. Bradley joked around with him a bit, gave him the story he would be covering the following evening (a murder that Alastor, of course, had nothing to do with), and was on his way.
But even as Alastor tried to focus on the word in the newspaper, trying to come up with something funny to say about a man gutted in a gutter, he found his mind wandering to the encounter that he had had that morning. There was little doubt in his mind that Mr. Ridley was a wizard and that he worked for the American government. Alastor hadn't even considered the presence of other wizards in a place like America, but it made perfect sense - after all, there were wizards everywhere. Was he in danger of being found out by them?
Surely the wizarding government was far more efficient at catching crimes than the human one. Still, Alastor, after all, no longer used a wand, and he was fairly certain that all of his tricks were more associated with voodoo rather than witchcraft.
He found himself thinking of the magical boundary that he had set up at the cabin - was that more witchcraft or voodoo? Was there some way that the wizarding community had caught on to the usage of irregular magic? If so, how had they found him? Surely a big city like New Orleans was crawling with other voodoo practitioners, though he had always made a point of steering clear of anything magical. The shock was so great, and he had so many things to sort out in his head that he took his work home with him.
There was one thing that didn't leave his mind - wizards were secretive creatures who tried to keep any mention of magic far from any muggle's mind. Why had Ridley been so upfront with his questions? That didn't seem the way that any wizarding government would operate.
Alastor ruminated over these questions well into the night, but he was able to sleep quite soundly. He hadn't wanted to risk going back to the car and getting his groceries like he had meant to, fearing that the Ridley character would follow him, even though he hadn't seen him again.
Alastor missed his invisibility cloak - just imagine the things he could pull off if he had it! If he could only go back to his time, to Hogwarts, and fetch his things… Irritated that he didn't have his food with him, he hoped they wouldn't spoil one day outside the freezer. To be certain, Ridley man was a nuisance, but if he really did work for the government, it was far too risky to murder him.
When Friday dawned, he found he woke up with a clear head and chipper humor, knowing that that evening he would be hosting his favorite show and attending a much-expected dinner party. He decided he would deal with Ridley if he dared show up again and thought Alastor's acting might have deterred the man. Besides, if worst came to worst, Alastor was certain he was better at magic than Ridley could ever be. He hadn't forgotten how he had performed the Cruciatus curse with no wand and no trouble at all.
Though he knew that any wizarding government kept track of any Unforgivable Curses, the last time he had performed one had been over twenty years ago, and surely he was free of whatever tracking devices had been put on him when he had lived in future England. He shouldn't have had to exist at all in this time, as he hadn't even been born.
His wind wandered over to his mother and father - they would be on this earth thirty years from now. But he never allowed his mind to wander to places like that. And so Alastor went to work as chipper as always and had a particularly great night hosting, more than at the top of his game. After work, he went to Montenegro's address with Bradley, who offered him a ride in his fancy car.
Alastor would've gone over to his house to eat one of his remaining meats, but he was in such a good mood that he was up to eating 'normal' food, and though it didn't have that edge that he liked so much, it would certainly be no small feat, considering how rich Montenegro was. The neighborhood they drove into was his first sign that Montenegro was an even bigger fish than Bradley.
Though Bradley had to have quite a bit of cash to get a house right in the middle of the hustle and bustle of a cramped city, Montenegro's house was in the richest neighborhood, even in the richest street by excellence. It was even bigger than Bradley's, though simple and elegant, but still displaying enormous wealth. It had actual pillars on the entrance, made of gold-lined marble. Alastor and Bradley walked up to the front door, where two butlers were stationed.
They didn't even question their presence, recognizing Bradley from the get-go and opening the incredibly heavy doors for them with all the politeness in the world. Once inside, it really did seem like they had stepped into the anteroom of a castle. Two beautiful girls in all-black attire took Bradley's coat and showed them to the lounge, where a rather reduced group of people sat among clouds of heavy, expensive-smelling smoke, their clothes as flawless and rich as their postures. Alastor had the idea that this was the real representation of wealth and station.
It was insane how elite every last detail managed to look. The lounging room was cohesive and beautiful, its lush red velvet couches and drapes mixing wonderfully with the building's structure's alternating white, gold, and black. Once inside, they immediately started mingling with the crowds, Bradley politely introducing Alastor to people and keeping him at his side so as not to feel too out of place. Though the room was massive, with a huge staircase and a balcony to the upper floor, the space didn't seem too empty. Doubtlessly these people were masters at throwing parties.
The moment he spotted his newcomers, Montenegro went up to them, a thick, lit cigar in his hand. "Bradley!" He exclaimed, shaking hands with him before turning to Alastor. "And Alastor, I'm very happy to see you - Madeline, come and meet Alastor," he called to a beautiful, hypnotizing woman not too far off. The tall and stately woman, noticeably younger than him though still probably well into her fifties, sauntered to them gracefully. Her blonde hair didn't have a hint of age, and her own face was carefully preserved with makeup and whatever it was that rich people did to look good.
If it hadn't been for her hands and her aged attitude, Alastor would've believed her if she said she was thirty or twenty. "Alastor, this is my lovely wife, Madeline," Montenegro introduced, and Alastor was surprised to see some genuine love in his eyes. Maybe it was just happiness from being able to show off his wife. If Alastor had been the kind of person to be interested in women, his eyes would've strayed far more to her than they already did. Alastor kindly greeted his wife and even kissed her hand, greatly pleasing them, especially Madeline Montenegro. "Where are those wild kids of yours, Sal?" Bradley asked, sipping on some champagne that he had been handed. "Well, Molly had her mock piano recital tonight, so she can't make it.
She might arrive later tonight. Ashton is…" Montenegro waved his hand around generally around the room, as if signally that his son was someplace close, "and Anthony…" he leaned closer to his wife to speak to her directly, his hand on her waist, but Alastor could still hear him. "Where's Anthony? Did he come down yet?" He asked, and even though he was evidently a very well-put-together man, the irritation was evident in his voice.
His wife became slightly uncomfortable. "I'll go fetch him," she told him, smiling tenderly and giving him a kiss on the cheek. Montenegro sighed as he watched her disappear up the stairs. "Lovely, isn't she?" He asked them with a smile. "You have a beautiful wife," Alastor agreed with a smile, "and an incredible home, tell me…" and with that, they launched into a conversation that all rich men liked to have: which remote corner of the universe his furniture had come from, how many staff he had at any given time, all of that good stuff that Alastor was so good at pretending he was interested in.
They were well into the conversation when Alastor spotted Madeline's return from the corner of his eye. She was looking a little worried as she walked over to talk to another woman in the room. And then the strangest thing happened - he became unfocused. Something, and he couldn't very well put his finger on exactly what that was, drew his eye as if pulled by an invisible string to the upstairs balcony.
From the marble rails, Alastor saw that a young man was lazy regarding the downstairs spectacle, his eyes wandering about listlessly, and then finally as if an invisible magnet had also directed his gaze, his incredible pink eyes rested on Alastor. He felt as if all the oxygen in the world had spiraled out of his reach - there he was. The boy of his dreams