Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Chapter One:

It wasn’t supposed to end like this.

A billowing cloud of black smoke, usually invisible in the midnight sky, is highlighted by the fluorescent lights of neighboring city buildings. The scent of burning wood, gasoline, and charred flesh fills the summer air, alluding to a crime scene full of death and destruction. From a distance he stands, a trenchcoat pulled tightly around his thin form, keeping two glove-wearing hands shoved into his pockets. Taking deep breaths from behind the white plague doctor mask, his eyes stare blankly at the growing fire, savoring the moment for as long as possible.

It was a good run in Saint Louis, roughly 11 months of getting away with kidnapping, arson, and murder without having the run-in with the police. In a city where violence and riots occur on a daily basis, a simple game show host like himself could have free reign over certain areas without fear of retribution. It ends tonight, however. The police are getting smarter, more news segments dedicated to his macabre show being featured, and less room for error.

Despite choosing an abandoned warehouse in the questionable parts of The Lou to hold a game of life or death, the collateral damage was greater than expected, gaining more attention than he would’ve liked. A little overkill with the pyrotechnics this time around? Or too many traceable players who needed their existences snuffed out? No time for him to really think about the hows or whys, not with the sound of sirens in the distance.

Taking off the mask, he looks down at the small voice changer tucked away inside the plastic, before placing it into the burning wreckage. Another identity gone with the flames, his shoes leaving barely any sound as he navigates the alleyways with ease. Covering a few blocks without a glance behind, he stops at a parking garage where a well-kept blue PT Cruiser sits in between two other cars. A gift from Grandma, once he decided that leaving home was his destiny, in order to escape the increasing pressure of the family business.

An assortment of boxes can be seen from the window of the car, all of his valuable belongings and evidence alike. Over the past few years, it’s become easier for him to shed materialistic objects in favor of memories. Killers who leave behind too many personal belongings are always the ones to get caught, as he’s learned through research and podcasts.

His trench coat and gloves are removed carefully, before placing them in the trunk of the car, leaving behind his killer persona in the rare event the police pull him over while escaping the city. Underneath the mysterious facade is simply another plain-looking man in a worn college sweatshirt and jeans. Opening the car door quietly, he slips into the driver’s side seat while removing his gloves, being certain to hide them in one of the nearby boxes.

A quick shake of his head clears a few strands of black hair from his eyes, glancing at the driver's license sitting near the dashboard. He reaches over to pick it up begrudgingly. “Brad...Ugh...Glad to see this identity go bye-bye.” The picture on the state ID is of a man with altered facial features, a mustache, and a receding hairline. Nothing like his cleanly-shaved, head full of hair self, but he needed a fake person to impersonate while living in the city. That’ll be the first thing he burns in the fireplace of his new home.

“Well, no point in sticking around here.” The ID is shoved into the glove compartment, followed quickly by a turn of the key in the ignition, causing the car to rumble with life. Peeling out of the parking lot would make him an irresponsible adult, so he takes his time leaving the building at a respectable speed. Can’t afford the attention of the police, not while his latest murder still burns mere miles away.

Chicago. Indianapolis. Saint Louis. The past few cities have been wonderful hosts for his parties, but it’s time to get the show going in another location. 4 hours west, perched on the edge of Kansas and Missouri, the aptly-named Kansas City awaits. He smiles, driving the car onto the highway ramp in eager anticipation for the next game.

Moving into a new home isn’t exactly old news, but it feels increasingly nervous to him after the last game played. Were the police actively searching for him now? Do they even have any evidence to track him by? Brad catches his hand quivering for a moment as he pulls the car into a long gravel driveway, where a large two-level farmhouse awaits him. There’s nothing for miles around, civilization out of reach, leaving him alone is the deepest part of the open Missouri plains.

“Calm down, the police aren’t going to find you out here.” He takes a quick look at his worn reflection in the rearview mirror, a tired expression staring back at him. The drive was long, nonstop across the I-70, into the backroads and finally ending at a little city called Mosby.

Opening the driver’s side door, he’s greeted by the scent of wildflowers and the incessant chirping of crickets, befitting of an early morning or extremely late summer night. He doesn’t bother taking anything out of the car, simply walking up to the front door, where a large ceramic dog statue sits on one side. Picking it up carefully, he reaches inside, procuring a set of keys with ease. Tempting as it is to drop the pug statue onto the hard concrete steps, he chooses to rest the canine back onto the porch gently.

It feels weird having a benefactor who leaves him access to a temporary hideout, but he won’t turn a blind eye to her kindness. She’s been helping him for a few years now from the shadows, ever since he took the murder party gameshow to the internet for live streaming. Most saw his show as nothing more than an elaborate hoax, unaware that real murders were actually taking place behind the facade of cutely crafted dolls. She was the only one who truly knew he was committing murder. Felicia. The one who pays his bills and keeps food on the table.

Opening the door, he’s greeted by the rustic farmhouse decor, which feels like something out of a horror movie. Cryptic pictures line the walls and a fine layer of dust seems to cover everything, irritating his nose. If something isn’t hiding in the basement, there will be something soon enough. Turning on a nearby tiffany lamp, the wooden floors are illuminated with shards of red, blue, and yellow guiding his eyes to the visible pathways of the house. The entranceway branches off into the kitchen, living room, and dining hall equally. In the distance he can see something glimmering on the kitchen table, his steps hasten and walk into the stark white room.

On the table is his welcome package to the home: a new cell phone, files full of future ‘contestants’, fake IDs, and even a fresh batch of cookies. When leaving Saint Louis, any trackable data has to be burned in the explosion, so it’s reassuring to see modern technology once again. Reaching down with one hand, the phone starts buzzing with life, nearly causing him to jump backward in fear. It’s her.

Sharpening his wits, the phone is retrieved and answered by the third ring. The sounds of catchy pop music can be heard in the background and he’s trying to pick up whatever cues are readily available. Mariah Carey? No, Janet Jackson’s soothing and romantic voice is lingering in the background. Along with the sounds of chattering people in the next room over, he’s certain that his caller is trying to stay isolated from the needy company.

“Hello Brad! I take it you arrived safe and sound?” Felicia’s sickeningly positive voice echoes through the speaking, causing him to frown. Mainly at the name choice and the fact that she rarely calls, preferring text messages instead. Conversations conducted in the past have been short and to the point, but tonight is another story, given how close he was to a set of handcuffs.

They’ve known each other for years, ever since he took on the reins of killing full time instead of working a typical office job. When it came time to shift professions, Felicia reached out to him on a whim, introduced herself as a family friend, and simply asked what he needed to get started. It was one thing to know his family was rooted in darker things, but to be offered assistance by a group of monsters from fiction was something else entirely.

“Can you please not call me by that name anymore? It kinda died with the rest of my show this evening.” He takes a seat at the kitchen table, eyeing the stack of fake identification papers. Felicia has already been efficient at providing him all the necessary tools for a successful kidnapping and murder, even if it’s typically her friends who do all the legwork.

“Well, until you choose a new persona, you’ll be Brad to me. But let’s get past the formalities, how do you like the place? My friend who’s a werewolf uses this as a winter retreat.” Her statement doesn’t cause him to freak out, even if he’s never seen a werewolf in person. He doesn’t need proof that monsters exist, Felicia’s mysterious ways have all but convinced him of the supernatural. The occasional selfie of a spooky octopus tentacle has also helped that case.

“It’s fine, I really haven’t gotten a chance to look it over though.” He resists making a comment about how the home feels lived in and welcome, somewhere that has a lot of family history makes painful memories of the past easier to dredge up. This would be the kind of house his grandparents would own, for the comfort and the vast amount of space for conducting hideous crimes. There’s really no difference in making breakfast and killing some annoying neighbor, after all.

“Well, don’t fret over the simple things. I had the werewolf make sure the fridge is fully stocked for you, the sheets cleaned and even left you keys for the haunted Plymouth Fury in the garage. You should probably hide the PT Cruiser you drive so the police don’t find it.” Brad reaches for the keys in his pocket but stops when Felicia resumes talking. “I’m so sad that your gameshow has to be put on hold for now, but I’m sure you’ll come back swinging in the next few months.”

“...Yeah, guess it’ll have to wait until the police are off my trail.” One of his two dreams, simply crushed in an instant, because of a negligent usage of explosives. If only he’d done a better job at concealing his murders from the local PD, then everything would’ve been alright. For now, however, staying low and hiding out is the best thing he can do. It’ll be nice to relax, so long as his mind can be put at ease.

“Don’t sound so sad! You’ll have plenty of time to rebuild the game show. I also left you some really good leads on new places to recruit people. You might want to look at a part-time job to help with the scouting process!” It’s oddly refreshing hearing Felicia talk so highly of kidnapping, even if the prospect of getting a job sounds horrifying.

“I’ll give everything a glance in the morning. For now, I just want some sleep.” He leans back in the chair, carefully balancing the phone in his open hand. Talking with Felicia is nice, but a long night of murder and driving has left him feeling only half-awake and slightly impressed that a conversation can be held right now.

“Fair enough, Brad! I’ll be in touch with you over the next few days, to help you get acclimated to your new surroundings and to fill you in on any new news regarding the police. So far, they’ve just reported the explosion as arson, but here’s to hoping they don’t find your stash of skeletons!” Hearing that the police aren’t immediately one his tail makes Brad feel somewhat easier, but the fact remains that they still want his head. It’s hard enough dealing with other things in life, but getting arrested is still on the top of his ‘do-not-want’ list.

“Sure...We’ll talk later..” He doesn’t wait for her goodbye, simply hanging up the phone and sliding the device back onto the table with ease. Giving her even an additional minute to talk will extend the conversation another 30 minutes, give or take. She typically is used to the abrupt endings, preferring that over any rude messages.

The house is oddly quiet, save for a ticking cat clock hanging idly from one kitchen wall, leaving Brad to his hectic thoughts. Among the stacks of fake IDs, one, in particular, catches his eye. Most of the chosen aliases are bad puns and unbelievably strange, but the ID he picks up is a name that rings true: Thomas Carter. It’s not exactly his real name, but his mother did call him Tommy in the past, so this could be considered relatable.

“Thomas Carter. I can finally retire Brad for good, thankfully. Starting tomorrow, this is who I’ll become.” He takes one last look at the ID before shoving it into his pocket. Standing up from the kitchen table, he walks into the closest bedroom, not caring about where sleep happens tonight. The voices, the sounds in his mind are at ease for this moment, pacified by the offering of flesh and flame. A night of peaceful rest is bound to happen now.

Thomas shuts the bedroom door quietly, embracing the familiar darkness with no resistance.

Chapter Text

It’s been a long time since Thomas has gotten a full night of sleep in a normal bed, let alone 8 hours of uninterrupted sleep. The farmhouse is a welcome change of pace from the usual abandoned rental homes he's stayed in before, most being uninhabitable and simply disgusting. Homeownership had never crossed his mind, not when each night is full of murderous ambition. Being a half serial killer-half game show host often required sacrifices, this being a normal lifestyle he always wanted but could never really have as long nights of murderous quiz shows often ended with a quick nap in his car or spending a few hours at a 24-hour diner staring blankly out the window with a cup of coffee.

The sunlight bleeding in from aged and ancient curtains is the first thing that stirs the murderer from his slumber. It takes Thomas a few minutes to realize where he’s at, recalling the previous night and what transpired. A couple of minutes pass, given that he doesn't hear the sound of the Police breaking down his door yet is a reassuring sign that he’s out of immediate danger. Moving aside quilts and blankets, he’s eager to get moving and not waste any valuable time in getting settled in. The car needs unpacking and it’s important to assess how much space the basement has for his future game shows.

Walking through the house during the day feels vastly different than the night, all of the creepy decors look peaceful when bathed in sunlight. Everything feels old, stuck in a time period when life was much calmer, it would take a bit of time but he could get used to it. Upon walking into the kitchen a warm and welcoming feeling envelops Thomas as he examines the room, the shelves full of kitschy knick-knacks and scented vanilla candles, whilst looking around his eyes began to gravitate toward the cell phone left abandoned on the table from the previous night. 

“No Thomas, pull yourself together. Don’t use the phone now, you have other stuff to do!” Thomas reminded himself before stepping away over to the nearest counter and fishing out a mug, entertaining himself by rummaging through one of the kitchen’s designated tea drawers. After a few minutes of brewing a cup of Earl Grey, he opened the door to the back porch, he was hit with the sudden coldness of the morning breeze and the sound of rustling the leaves of the nearby elder trees filled his ears. His eyes took a bit of time to adjust but when he was able to see clearly again he took a few moments to take in the scenery. The gated backyard was a garden full of vibrant and colorful flowers: lilies, tulips, wildflowers, and a few more he could not recall the names of.

“Grandma and Mom would love this place,” He fiddles with the handle of his mug. “Out in the middle of nowhere, perfect for a night of murder and anarchy. I wonder what they would do in a situation like this?” Thomas mused. He's stuck in the same rut as of last night, uncertain but still holding onto his childhood dream of becoming a star, whether through being a legit game show host or doing something in voice acting. Yes, he still wanted to appease his family in some way but could he even do it? Was his father right about him? Was he only destined for failure? Pulling himself out of his thoughts before he could get too lost in them he placed his mug on the nearby railing before he began to tread deeper into the field of flowers, as he surveyed the garden he noticed that the plants could do with some water. 

Thomas turned his gaze to the roses, staring at them with interest, ignoring all the other flowers present in the garden. They look wilted, in need of watering, which he was more than happy to assist with. After retrieving a watering can from the house’s shed and returning to the roses he tilted the watering can in his hand. Watching to make sure each petal received a healthy shower of water. Even though the sun seemed vibrant earlier, clouds now cover the skyline in a grey shroud, bringing him to recall days of his youth...

An overcast sky lingers above, the scent of rain permeates the air, however, no raindrops have fallen yet. The vast gardens of the hotel are full of exotic plants and flowers, some more dangerous than others, but each taken care of by his grandmother. She was a botanist for many years, specializing in poisons which could be spread discreetly through touch, before finally retiring to run the family hotel. Today she laid inside, sleeping off a late night of work, leaving him to explore the gardens with limited supervision. 

From a distance away, his parents sit calmly at a finely crafted iron table, not paying any attention to him at all. The look on Father’s face is recognizable from even a distance. He’s upset, frowning at Mother, trying to hold back his temper. Father had never been happy and Thomas knows it, even at the tender age of 7. He knows he’s not like other family members.

“Just look at him, out there playing in the flowers like an ignorant child. I expected him to be better than this, Martha.” He taps one gloved finger against the table, eyes resting firmly on his wife. Strands of gray hair are hidden beneath a fancy brown hat, which clashes with his white doctor coat. Edward, a father in his 40’s, graduated top of his college class to become a successful anesthesiologist. His desire for science was twofold, to make lots of money and to explore what science could do to the human body in experimental ways. It’s simply too easy to conceal a death behind natural medical causes, after all. 

Meeting his wife Martha was an arranged marriage, a consort of his family encouraged him to marry the younger woman, a massage therapist with a history of turning her clients into human pincushions. She respected the sciences, encouraged his deadly research of human anatomy and their marriage turned out to be a beautiful joining of two mature psychopaths. That was until she became pregnant and birthed a son which would sully the family name.

"He's a late bloomer, Edward. Tommy is still showing signs of increased intelligence among his peers and has a fine eye for the arts. He just hasn’t found his murderous nature yet.” She takes a sip of her tea, glancing between her precious black-haired boy and his upset father. Unlike her husband, she didn’t necessarily want her son to start showing an interest in the family lineage of murder and death. No matter how many weapons, poisons, or scary things she had shown him, Thomas simply laughed it off and went on his merry way. 

“I don’t want my son to be some effeminate loser. Your mother has finesse when it comes to murdering people with poisonous flowers, you and I with our scientific backgrounds. But your son wants to watch Wheel of Fortune and learn needlework. And for god’s sake, his name is Thomas, not Tommy! We should be treating him as if he was an adult instead of coddling him!” Edward taps his finger against the metal table, agitated at how his wife is ignoring his statements. They agreed a long time ago that if she were to ever bear a child, that he would control every aspect of ‘its’ life. However, shortly after birth, both Martha and her mother became obsessed with raising the boy whichever way they saw fit. 

“We’re not stifling his creative mind at this age. He has the potential to be an elegant killer, one of grace and beauty.” Martha gave him one last stare, silencing her husband, as their son wandered over, clutching a group of roses in his hands. Black and red. Edward is simply grateful that the color scheme of the flowers is better suited for a killer, instead of something pink or white. Martha is overjoyed at the sight of Thomas, reaching down to give him a big hug. She has to resist giving him additional attention, knowing full well that her husband abhors her motherly instincts.

“Mother! Father! I picked out the best-looking roses for you! Thomas laughs, raising the flowers upward, his mother taking one of the roses gently. Her smile is contagious, getting a hearty laugh out of the child. She takes the flower and places it behind her ear as a decoration, wearing it proudly. 

“It’s a wonderful gift, Tommy. Edward and I were just discussing how wonderful you are, that we’re proud to have you as our child.” She takes a handkerchief off the table and begins rubbing his face, removing thin layers of dirt and grime. Thomas laughs at her efforts, standing still until Mother has completed her task. She brushes his silk black hair behind one ear, straightens up his red jacket, then sends him over to Edward. 

“Father, you and Mother were saying good things about me?” Thomas looks up at his Dad with wide blue eyes, still clutching the roses tightly near his chest. Out of all these years, Father rarely ever spoke highly of him or the things he’d do. Often enough, he would simply scoff or shake his head in disapproval, accompanied by an off-beat comment regarding how he should try harder. Today, however, is the day all of that changes. 

“Of course, son. Let me share my form of love with you.” Edward motions for his son to come closer, allowing the child to offer him the remaining roses. The flowers are meticulously cared for, and yet, his son has soiled them by plucking them from the earth. Without saying another word, he drops the roses to the ground, swiftly raising his foot down to crush them silently. Thomas’s eyes, once a subtle shade of blue, turn red almost instantly. Instead of anger, his eyes welled up with tears, trying and struggling to comprehend his father’s actions. 

“Grow up, Thomas. Become a man I can be proud of.” Edward turns his gaze quickly to Martha, but instead of approval, she’s already pulling their son into a comforting hug. He was expecting some support towards his parenting style, but instead, the tables had turned. It’s at that moment, Edward realizes nothing will change in this marriage and his disappointment will only grow with time. 

Over the wails of his son, he stands up and walks towards the hotel with a grim expression on his face. There won’t be another day of this travesty. By the time dawn breaks tomorrow, he’ll be gone with the rise of the sun, with no feelings of regret in his heart. Things need to change, and if his departure forces some change in his son, then everything will be worth it.

Thomas finds himself no longer in the garden of his memories, back in the present day, the watering can he once held now at his feet. The last few minutes are a blur, not remembering what task he was working on or how things came to be. One hand reaches down to grab the can, but his fingers brush against the roses, causing his fingertips to bleed. It’s the sight of red that triggers him, reminded of the flowers he tried to give his father, and the subsequent departure of dear old Dad. His body grows warmer, wisps of smoke linger around his skin until his eyes glance down at the watering can. In the distorted reflection, Thomas can see his eyes changing color. 

He rushes back to the house, throwing open the backdoor with enough force to cause it to shake and rattle against the wall, unknowingly leaving a dent in the wall. Entering the closest bathroom, Thomas looks up at the mirror, seeing the sclera change from white to black, his irises change color from blue to red. Smeared blood now covers the porcelain countertop, as he raises his bloodied hand to the mirror, leaving smudged red fingerprints on the glass. 

Part of his mind is filled with dread at knowing the family curse is so strong this time around, the other is simply embracing the chaos. Just one kill won’t hurt, not if he can get away with it. Laughing maniacally, he continues to run his hand along with the glass, then the walls, and finally his face. There’s nothing to fear, not when all of the world deserves to burn, especially Daddy dearest.

In the silence of the old farmhouse, his laughter rings out: a cacophony of pain, anger, and sheer madness.

The city of Saint Louis is in a panic. A city already plagued by economic problems and a disparity in cultures has left the Missouri town is a state of confusion. Rumors began circulating in the dead of night after one of the industrial areas went up in flame: riots, gang wars, bored teenagers. Crimes come up daily, but not one of them had touched on the destructive level that this one left behind.

It’s a lot of work for Chief Harrison to keep civil disobedience at bay and to ensure the public of their safety, hence the sudden need to hold a press conference in the middle of the day. Reporters from every news station in the city stood eagerly outside the decimated and charred line of warehouses, wanting to know every little deal of what took place during the crime. The chief of police, dressed in his finest suit, stood tall in front of the gathered audience, television, and media personalities alike. Once the voices in the crowd had all calmed down, the older gentleman spoke up. His hands gripped the podium tightly, giving off an aura of confidence and power.

“I’ll be keeping this brief, but the arson that occurred last night was caused by faulty wiring in one of the abandoned warehouses, which formerly stored flammable objects. The rumors of this being a gang-related or terrorist attack have been proven impossible based on the evidence collected by our forensics team.” His words were direct, serious, and without any wavering hesitation. The comments are enough to get the press in a fervor; many are shoving their microphones forward, flashing lights from cameras going off in all directions. 

“No questions.” With a wave of one hand, the microphone is cut off, and his walk away from the podium is terse. Police officers scramble to cover for his immediate exit to a nearby car, members of the media hollering out with questions anyway. Opening the door for him is an unwelcome sight, a man in his late 30’s, shoulder-length blond hair, a scruffy face, and a well-built frame from years of working out. Wearing a light gray turtleneck and a large green jacket, he gives a polite smile to the chief, acting as if nothing is out of place.

“Are you going my way, Chief Harrison?” One hand effortlessly motions to the door, the older gentleman immediately becoming agitated at the sight of the youth. He’s had only one other encounter with the rogue sheriff, and it ended with threats of being arrested.

“Sheriff Silas Calhoun. I thought I told you not to show yourself around the Saint Louis police ever again. Looks like you’ve weaseled your way past my forces once more.” Harrison watches his unwelcome guest simply shrug his shoulders before placing one hand forcefully on the captain’s shoulder. 

“Persistence is a virtue, sir. It wasn’t hard to get your driver to cooperate with my needs. Get in and let’s talk.” With a shove, the police chief stumbles into the backseat as Silas shuts the door swiftly behind him. He could make a break for it, but the driver's side door is immediately opened, allowing the sheriff to climb in. With the doors locked, Silas waits to turn on the ignition, eagerness getting the better of him.

“You didn't tell the public the truth. You and I know who committed the arson, Harrison.” He shoves the key into the ignition, the car’s entire roaring to life like an enraged beast. Staring at the chief through the rear-view mirror, Harrison simply pulls a handkerchief from his pocket, wiping his forehead calmly. 

“Still chasing that phantasmic TV murderer, Silas? Addressing you as a sheriff is a slap in the face to anyone else who works in the force! The forensic evidence proves that the explosion was nothing more than a fire…” Silas frowns, taking the car out of park, making sure to not put his foot down on the gas pedal completely. Even if his so-called police 'companion' has said the wrong things at the wrong time. 

“The same team found a charred piece of the Trivia Murder’s Party Host props, a specific wheel that he only uses in his shows. Along with that, 8 unrecognizable charred corpses, which will put the forensic scientists to work for days trying to identify those poor souls.” Silence fills the car, Silas watches the police chief from the rearview mirror. For someone who claims to help the people, Harrison is oddly calm. 

“The industrial area is known for squatters and the homeless, along with any gangs that look to make illegal deals. Graffiti is also common. Your little ‘murder party host’ is simply a streamer who’s looking to get attention without actually committing murder. For god’s sake, Silas, his show is just an hour of bland trivia and stabbing voodoo dolls…”

“He’s real!” Silas slams the breaks on the car suddenly, thankfully without another vehicle behind him. The shock breaks Harrison out of his calm demeanor, sweating ever more profusely. “But let’s get to the point of this whole conversation. I know you’re just a sniveling old man who wants the public to believe in him, that everything is okay and perfect. It’s sickening. But I want all of the information about these so-called ‘random arsons’.” 

“And why would I do something like that for such a loose cannon, former sheriff and murderer, such as yourself?” A fair question, one that requires Silas to pull the car over and into a gas station parking lot. Once the car is turned off, he tilts his head back to stare blankly at the police chief. 

“Because if you don’t, I’ll just keep coming back, over and over. You want me gone, right? Well, this is your way to do it!” A smile creeps onto his face, the color is immediately draining from Harrison’s face. He reaches down to grab a suitcase which was tucked underneath the passenger side seat, Silas mentally chides himself for missing such an obvious clue. A large manila folder is offered up, which he takes forcefully with one hand. The abbreviations TMP Case are typed neatly on the folder. 

“I’m glad we could have this chat, Chief Harrison. Please give my regards and apologies to your valet driver. She wasn’t too happy at my appearance earlier.” Silas is already opening the door to the car, leaving the police chief stunned as he walks away. Tempting as it is to chase him, the sounds coming from the trunk of the car are distressing. 

Scrambling to the front seat for the keys, Harrison hurries out to the backside of the car, opening it up quickly to find a cell phone. No tied-up body, thank god, but the muffled sounds of someone from the other end is still distressing. What kind of former police office supports hurting a lady? 

“As if I would ever hurt a lady. She’s back at the crime scene, locked up in one of the bathrooms. Good luck with that search, Chief!” He raises one hand in a slight wave, before tucking the folder under one arm and heading down the street. Everything was planned like this, except for the unnecessary wait time placed on his Uber driver. One last look at the angry police chief pulling out his cell phone is enough to feel confident about the situation. Harrison won’t come after him, a sheriff with a clever streak and attitude to boot, not when half the city is in a panic. With confidence, Silas opens the door to his waiting ride, the car speeding off and onto the nearest road. 

“You’re paying me extra for this.” The driver, a young teenager, simply turns up the radio after glaring over at Silas. A smile falls on the sheriff’s face as Hall and Oates ‘Private Eyes’ greets him over the car stereo. He leans back in the seat, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a crumpled 20 dollar bill, sticking it into the cupholder.

“Yeah, yeah. Just promise me you’ll go back to college after this is done. Uber isn’t going to pay your bills forever, kid.” The driver is silent, but the way he lowers his gaze to the road indicated that the topic has hit home. Good. Looking down at the folder in his lap, Silas sighs, turning his gaze to the scenery speeding by. 

Three years ago, he would’ve never pictured himself on a road trip across the midwest, chasing a killer that completely tore his life apart. Back then things were peaceful, living in a small town along the outskirts of Chicago, with not a care in the world. But then he came into the picture, and everything died in his wake. The Trivia Murder Party Host. His need for the macabre and desire for showmanship, all topped off with a city set ablaze. 

The host has been quieter these last few months until his signature move bought Silas back on his tail. It started in Chicago, passed through Indianapolis, then Saint Louis. The track record is easy to follow, find a big city, and torment the smaller portions of it until everything is dead. Columbia and Kansas City are bound to be next, fitting the same operation pattern that the host is known to do. 

Soon he’ll be on the road once more, down the winding paths, ever closer to the truth and capturing the Trivia Murder Party host. After all, he can’t be the only one hunting down the serial killer, and the man is bound to slip up eventually. It’s only a matter of time.

“Is something wrong, Thomas? There’s a certain quiver in your voice right now.” Felicia’s voice cuts through his distracted state of mind. It’s been a few hours since his meltdown, enough time to get things unpacked from his car, to get physically cleaned up and fully settled into his new home. Being away from society has curtailed the bloodlust for now, but there’s a dreaded fear in Thomas’s mind that he’ll slip back into the dark, thus the reason he’s reached out to Felicia once more.

“You’re calling me Thomas, now. When I looked at the fake ID you sent me, it felt like I was forgetting something important. It sounds strange, but ever since I started doing the game show, I’ve been through so many names that I’ve lost track of who I am. Is Thomas my real name or is this just another mask to wear?” He nervously paces the living room floor, sitting down only causes his body to shiver violently. Without missing a beat, Felicia is speaking to him, like a mother or a long lost friend would: calm and relaxing.

“That’s a very philosophical question. Maybe you are Thomas. Maybe you’re someone else entirely. Why does that matter? In the end, despite everything, you are still you.” Hearing that statement causes Thomas to stop dead in his tracks, his eyes resting on a large and ornate mirror that hangs above the fireplace. His face displays exhaustion, as strands of dark black hair threaten to fall over his eyes. “That’s not the only thing on your mind, it is?” 

His hand holds the phone tightly, finally taking a seat in front of the lit fireplace, processing every word she says carefully. “It came back. The feeling of bloodlust and the desire for destruction. I thought it would at least stay away for a few days, but…” Thomas sighs, feeling his chest tighten, breath growing short. It was somewhat foolish of him to think that a lifelong curse could be sated with one night of chaos. Vacations never come to those who have a perchance for violence. “I need to do something. Sitting here isn’t doing me any good.”

“The curse will always be there. That’s what your family is known for, after all. You’ll either need to kill or at least find something that replicates those feelings if you’re so deathly concerned about having the police find you.” She’s tapping a pen or pencil in the background, Thomas’s ears pick up on the consistent rhythm. Felicia always has the right advice, especially since she’s known his family for years, helping out from behind the scenes. This moment is no different. She’s giving him some form of sanity during this transitional period of his life. 

“What should I do then? Getting back into killing right now means that the police could find me earlier. I don’t want to go to jail!” It’s tempting to throw the phone deep into the fireplace or to find something breakable nearby. Jail is not an option, not after what it did to Uncle Clive’s sanity. He chose to take the cops with him after being caught stealing chemicals to make explosives. The homemade bomb destroyed half a block of homes and was on the news for weeks. 

“I have a contact in the nearby town of Liberty. He’s a bit of a joker, but reliable when needed. For the past few years, he’s been working at a small funeral home...Maybe if you surround yourself with the dead, then those feelings of murder will level out in due time. Having a normal job will help you to blend in as well, to find new potential victims.” Her voice turns sickly sweet, the pen suddenly stops clicking, replaced by sounds of crunching plastic. “Thomas, I’ll do anything for you. Your family has been under my guidance for years, after all.” 

Her idea is one for consideration, given the state of his scrambled thoughts and lack of purpose, while standing in front of the fireplace. His bones feel chilly and worn down, like an old man unable to get any rest. Idle hands are the Devil’s plaything, and certainly, he knows that moving too quickly will result in a swift arrest. After a few moments of thinking he spoke, “I’ll take the offer, Felicia.” 

“Wonderful! Do you know how excited I am to write a resume for you? I can have a freshly pressed suit sent to your location tomorrow. Ah, this process is so exciting!” Thomas winces upon hearing something wet hitting a flat surface in the background. Certainly, he’s never met nor seen Felicia in real life, so her behaviors are rather strange at times. However, he can rest easy knowing that she’ll be doing all the work. 

Taking a deep breath, he takes a seat in the worn leather chair, completely zoning out Felicia’s rambling tangent about suit colors and ties, instead of listening to the strangely calm crackling noises of the lit fireplace. It’ll be good to get back out into society under a disguise of something normal, to take advantage of what these small Midwestern towns have to offer, in both worldly pleasures and potential targets alike. 

Unknowingly, a small smile crept onto Thomas’ face as he gazed into the blazing pyre.

Chapter Text

Most people wouldn’t be spending their summer vacation in the cold bellows of a morgue, but Dexter Penfield was not like his naive college peers. In his mind, there's no appeal in going to late-night keg parties or spending time at the local amusement park. To him, science is everything, even if he’d rather be studying computer languages than the human body. It’s not like he wanted to enter the Forensic Science field, but his parents were persuasive in having their only child follow the family tradition of working with the police. It feels weird doing a summer internship in a funeral home, let alone working in a field where no one appreciates his intellect.

The cold morgue does little to ease his fear, each hallowed breath causing his circular glasses to fog up. He can feel the chill permeate through his button-up shirt while trying not to stare down at the body lying motionless before him. The body isn’t a young one, an older woman who recently died of old age in a nursing home, but the sight still bothers him dearly.  It’s only when his mentor speaks up, that Dexter straightens his back and arms, almost imitating the corpse itself. 

“Dexter. I’ve been standing here for five whole minutes waiting for the tools beside you. Are we getting this job done or not?” From across his line of vision is a woman in her late thirties, dressed in an impeccable suit and tie, pulled straight from the 1950s. Her skin is pale like his, straight black hair pulled back over her ears with celestial-themed hairpins.

“Oh..um, Sorry Olivia, I’m still waking up this morning.” He nervously adjusts his bowtie, feeling her gray eyes burning into his skin. The excuse doesn’t go over well, as she reaches for a pair of nearby gloves, putting them on quickly. They’ve been working together for about a month now, and Dexter has realized no matter how hard he tries, it’s simply impossible to please the experienced mortician. It probably doesn’t help that he’s squeamish around the deceased and even following simple directions is a struggle.

“I’m starting to suspect you don’t want to be here right now. Or is something else on your mind currently?” She’s already sidestepping past him to grab a few items off a nearby shelf, a long white coat, and a large plastic facemask. Dexter moves closer to the door, paying special attention to stay out of her way. “If you don’t want to work, then leave.” 

“Ah! No!” He blurted out waving his hands to emphasize his disapproval, “That’s not the case at all! In fact, why don’t we discuss something related to our work? Like recently criminal activity in the city? Or that wild explosion that took place in Saint Louis?” There’s a hint of excitement in his voice, mostly fake, trying to win his elder over with analytical topics. Anything is better than looking at the dead body lying cold and motionless before him. In an unexpected moment, she turns to face Dexter, tightly gripping the plastic mask with one hand. 

“I have no interest in hearing about how rich families bought their children out of a night of jail, or how someone tried to steal some five-dollar DVDs from a Binjpipe vending machine. As for Saint Louis, it would be interesting to see what exactly caused the explosion, let alone any residual damage left behind.” Olivia’s expression turns cold once more, gesturing to a nearby medical gown, then to Dexter. “But that’s not why we’re here, is it. Get suited up or get out of the way, Dexter.” 

Before he even gets a chance to reply, the morgue door is slid open, before a lanky man strolls in casually. At the tender age of 30, Tyrian, head of operations of the facility has an ego greater than his current role. Dressed in a gaudy crushed velvet dark violet suit, a purple ascot tucked neatly under his chin, and a hairstyle consisting of shoulder-length brown curls, his fashion style is something only a mother could love. With arms outstretched, he greets his lower-tier employees with a sickeningly sweet voice. “Good morning, everyone! Glad to see you’re all up and about this fine Monday!”

“Oh! Good morning, Mr. Disour.” Dexter beamed, happy to see someone who’s open to holding a conversation, immediately greets his superior with a quick wave of one hand. Instead of addressing her ‘boss’, Olivia simply watches the exchange with a solemn look on her face, trying to hide any annoyances she has towards Tyrian to no avail. He picks up the mood of the room with little difficulty, focusing his eyes on Dexter’s round glasses first.

“Doing hard work like always, Dexter? I know I can count on you to get the job done.” Tyrian’s sickeningly positive voice is reassuring to the college student but absolutely grinds on Olivia’s patience. Rather than attempt any sort of snarky quip or retort towards her direct supervisor, she stands quietly in place to avoid getting any unwanted attention. It seems to be working for now.

“Ah, I’m doing my very best, sir!” Dexter straightens up, mustering up his pride and confidence to look presentable before his boss. The reassuring smile on Tyrian’s face gives him hope that what he’s doing is the right thing. Even if he's blissfully unaware that the compliments are completely for show. “I won’t let you down!”

“Good to hear!” Tyrian reaches down and pats him on the shoulder before shifting his longing gaze to Olivia, his demeanor changing from mentor to flirtatious in the snap of a finger. “A moment of your time, Ms. Moore. And before you give me that vote of hesitation, this is about work, not our personal lives.” Even if his posture and tone suggest otherwise. 

She scowls in annoyance but obliges, “Fine, I can spare a few minutes.” It’s simply easier for her to resign and give Tyrian whatever attention he wants now instead of dealing with his contrast pestering over the course of her shift. She doesn’t have to worry about Dexter breaking anything while she’s gone, given he won’t get close to any of the tools. Best to give him a simple task and send him on his way. “Penfield. Slide the body back into the freezer for me. I don’t care what you do after that.”

“Ah....certainly! I’ll get it taken care of for you.” He’s shaking in his shoes, turning to face the body, neatly wrapped up a long sheet. Neither Olivia nor Tyrian waits to see if he actually completes the task at hand, both stepping out of the room and into the sterile white hallway. Once the door is shut behind her, Tyrian is already opening his mouth once more.

“I wanted you to know that we’re hiring. It’s rather nice to bring in fresh blood, especially given how Dexter is still warming up to the place. Would it kill you though to be nicer to the kid though? He’s already got it rough being the nerd around here.” Tyrian shrugs his shoulders as Olivia simply starts walking down the hallway at a brisk pace, forcing him to keep up. Maybe if she leads him back to his office, the so-called comedian will give her a break. She doesn’t expect it to work, but it’s worth a shot.

“First, I’m not in the mood for your death puns, so cut it out. Second, Dexter technically signed up for this summer internship, and because of that, he needs to be learning from it. You know what he does during work hours. Hiding in the bathroom, his car, the breakroom: anywhere that doesn’t put him within 6 feet of a dead body.” Her words cut deep, causing Tyrian to feign concern. Certainly, he’d like to replace Dexter with an attractive woman, but money ties run deep and the boy is only there due to internal connections. The owners have more sway than he likes to admit.

“Yes, he’s not exactly reliable, but that’s a curse we must all bear. Also, I hate to be the one who ends up being the bearer of bad news, so you’ll be flying solo for the unforeseeable future. The owners would never give up any of their Binjpipe stock money for another mortician. But they’re finally replacing Chad the janitor! Yay!” Tyrian claps his hands together, a grin rivaling the Cheshire Cat creeps onto his face. 

Immediately, the name sends shivers down Olivia’s spine, recalling months of sheer torture and agony within seconds. Chad was the former boyfriend of Amber, the front desk clerk,  21 years old, and fresh into his jock status. He would come into work drunk or high, sometimes even pounding back a beer while cleaning the floors. It finally took a drunken golf cart ride during a funeral proceeding to get the owners to terminate him for good.

“Wonderful.” Her voice oozed with sarcasm, mainly at the fact that her superiors don’t see a need to get her some help. Everything about this conversation is rubbing her the wrong way, from the topics at hand to how close Tyrian is walking next to her. It’s going to take every bit of patience she has to not do something drastic, especially knowing that he can terminate her position at any time. “Tell me something I need to know. After all, you pulled me away from work to have this little chat.” 

“Oh, I know you’re so eager to get back into the freezer, but I did want to let you know that I’m bringing the candidates around to meet everyone on staff. I’m fine with Dexter meeting them, but I know how prickly you can get when it comes to people interrupting your work.” The irony is not lost on him that pulling Olivia away for a few minutes is a perfect way to get on her nerves, but sometimes it’s worth the risk. Especially since she has a perchance for evading his questions about going out for drinks after work or attending his improv shows. Her apathy is troubling at times, even for someone as cheerful as himself.

“You are not giving me a lot to work with here. Fine, bring them by. It’s not like any of them will stick around for more than half a day.” She stops in front of Tyrian’s office door, not even reaching for the handle. Instead, both arms are crossed over her suit, watching her younger coworker carefully. “If we’re done discussing this matter, I’d like to get back to work so I’m not stuck here into the early hours of the morning.”

“Glad to hear you’re on board! I’ll be stopping by at 11 am and 3 pm so keep your schedule open. Now that business is out of the way through, do you want to stop into my office for a few? I recently received an expensive bottle of champagne from a client and…” Tyrian turns his gaze from his office door to see Olivia calmly walking away, hands shoved in her pockets. Without missing a beat, cheerful as ever, he calls back out to her. “So, does that mean we have a date?! No? We’ll catch up later!”

Liberty is an odd town, stuck between modernization and trying to retain its old historical roots, based on the idle research Thomas conducted the night before. A city full of rich-blooded families and white-collar workers who support them, two opposite forces that are only able to keep from fighting because of one central force, Binjpipe. The company that rose from nothingness to create a multimillion-dollar internet company established a providing service in the college town and the rest is history. The economy stabilized and everyone lived happily ever after, for now. 

There’s a certain feeling surrounding college towns that offers excitement and new adventures to Thomas. Many years ago, before getting into the streaming murders business, he once tried his hand at attending college to little success. Studying science was the only thing of interest, but a multitude of factors made it impossible to continue. A difficulty associating with his peers, the demanding school schedule, and of course, a need to kill.

The dropout was inevitable, but not before taking a few trips overseas and allowing some of his classmates to meet their fateful ends to shady hostels or accidental disappearances after a long night of drinking. How strange, now in his 30’s, to be starting again from square one.

On loan from one of Felicia’s many contacts, he drives the eccentric 1958 red Plymouth Fury down the winding streets, heading into the historical shopping district of the city. Despite having assistance from the dating mistress, she was eager to encourage him outward, into the unknown. And thus he finds himself behind the wheel of a car that’s worth more than his life savings, dressed in a black fitted suit and tie reserved for snobby business owners. Most of his prior disguises were simpler, blending in with society in order to be unnoticed, but this was the first time in a long while where his new identity felt empowering. Perhaps Felicia was onto something by giving him such luxurious items, as a way to help mend his wounded ego and pride after his recent botched murder cover-up.

Thomas sighed, “Can a fancy car and suit really prepare me for a job interview?” he asked himself offhandedly. It certainly wasn’t bad, given the last time Thomas actually worked a 9 to 5 office job was to get easy access to new game show ‘contestants’ en masse. However, circumstances are different this time around as the job is now of higher importance than finding people who want to stab each other with swords for money. A strange flip of the script, but he’ll adapt to the situation. 

The engine of the car slows down to a quiet purr, pulling into one of many marked empty parking spots. The area is mostly surrounded by trees, leaving only a large building at the far end of the parking lot. Getting out of the vehicle, he stops to look at his reflection in the driver’s side mirror one last time. His black hair matches the dark suit Felicia provided him with, the sharp edges of the red tie add to his manufactured look. Dressing up isn’t something Thomas usually does, but he’s used to putting in the effort for a good appearance, mainly for the sake of making kidnappings that much easier. He just hoped things would go well.

Stepping up to the main entrance of Golden Ridges Funeral Home, the first thing Thomas notices is how deceiving the building looks. From the outside, it looks like a pleasant little office, painted in subtle white paints with different plants and flowers adorning the yard. The inside, however, is full of intricately carved wooden walls, a hypnotizing black and gold checkerboard flooring, and red leather furniture. It feels like the office of a Fortune 500 company instead of a funeral home. 

His shoes clack loudly against the marble tile floor, approaching a large dark oak desk that a blond-haired woman is sitting behind. She’s wearing a sleeveless black dress, playing on her cellphone, not even giving him the time of day. Thomas tightly grips the manila folder under his hand, walking to the front of the desk, trying to resist reaching over and grabbing her by the neck.

A glance down at the desk reveals her name via a silver nameplate: Amber. It’s these kinds of people who annoy him greatly, although her screams would be music to his ears. Instead of resorting to violence, much to his own dismay, he speaks up in a friendly tone instead. “Excuse me, but I’m here to see Mr. Disour…”

“Sure you are. Take a seat, he’ll be with you whenever.” With a flick of her neatly manicured hand, she brushes him off towards a set of nearby chairs, eyes never leaving her cell phone. Thomas has to take a deep breath and to step away from the desk, feeling his blood pressure rising.

As if on cue, the side door opens to reveal a thin man, sporting a gaudy suit with more purple than necessary. He walks over to the secretary, placing one hand on her shoulder tightly, an overly joyous smile is on his face. Thomas’s eye slightly twitches, the action bothers him in multiple ways, from the way he’s touching this young adult to his wardrobe and tone of voice.

“You must be Thomas Carter! So glad to have you here at our humble facility!” His other hand is lunged forward at an alarming speed, leaving Thomas a split second to respond. The handshake is full of vigor and paired with Tyrian’s well-manicured nails and soft skin, it’s easy for Thomas to tell what type of person he’s dealing with. Someone who prides themselves on appearance and being the center of attention: two things he can completely understand. “Call me Tyrian. There’s no need for formalities here.” 

He finally releases his hand off Amber’s shoulder, leaving the woman staring up at him an angry expression. Without missing a beat, the purple suit-wearing gentleman steps away from the desk, gesturing for Thomas to follow him into the next room. Not wanting to be around the obnoxious front desk clerk any longer, he obliges and offers the resume in his hands to Tyrian.

It’s definitely an interesting place so far, with a playboy for a manager and a ditzy front desk clerk, but Thomas really wants to see the work performed here. So far, beyond the glorified entranceway, the rest of the building looks normal. No bloodstained floors or worn-down wallpaper walls, just hallways bleak with white and cream undertones. Everything is neat and clean, the exact opposite of what Thomas was expecting. 

“So...how long have you known Felicia? Gotta say she doesn’t reach out to me too often nowadays.” Tyrian doesn’t even bother opening the folder, walking calmly towards the other side of the building. Even his line of questioning confuses the serial killer, as instead of being asked about his past, it’s his benefactor that’s coming under fire. Not in a bad way, but simply odd seeing what priorities the other man has. 

“Well, She’s been a family friend for the past few years. I’ve never met her in person, but we’ve talked quite a bit over the phone lately.” It doesn’t bother Thomas that Felicia has kept her identity secret, after all, he’s done the same with his gameshow murders. It’s something he’s assumed is normal, a certain level of respect they give each other. 

“That’s how she works alas. She’s my on-call matchmaker, as I use her to try and find a good date now and then. I’ve been through a few ladies, so many that she’s become stingy at my requests for new dates.” Tyrian shakes the folder above his head comically. “Hence why I’m taking a look at your work history today. Consider it a compensation payment to Felicia for all that she’s done for me.” 

It surprises Thomas that Tyrian is actually going through with the interview at all, instead of concocting a lie in order to avoid doing any sort of work. Then again, Felicia doesn’t seem like the type of person someone would want to piss off, and based on Tyrian’s telegraphed actions towards women, he can rightly assume Felicia is already irked by his behaviors. It’s more information for Thomas to file for later. He simply bites his tongue, realizing that Tyrian probably doesn’t even want him there.

From further down the hall, a door opens and out walks a young college-age boy, white-blond hair covering parts of his face and glasses. His appearance almost gets a chuckle out of Thomas, as the boy looked like a nerd stereotype taken straight from a movie. Tyrian seems unfazed by this new addition, waving for the boy to come join them, willingly or not. 

“While we’re here, I should introduce you to our newest college recruit, Dexter. He’s studying for a degree in forensic science, but is working part-time here in order to get some early field experience.” For a second, silence fills the hallway after Tyrian completes the introductions, both Thomas and Dexter giving each other a quick look-over. Begrudgingly, Thomas extends one hand for a shake, mainly to look like a presentable human in front of Tyrian. 

“Nice to meet you, sir.” The returned handshake is weird, to say the least, the nerd’s hand being all clammy and sweaty, causing Thomas to fake a smile. Without missing a beat, Dexter continues the conversation, taking it in a direction that Thomas isn’t ready for. “You’re the one who drove up in the 1958 Plymouth Fury, right? The same car from Stephen King’s novel Christine.”

“Um, Yeah...It was passed down from my family.” And with that one response, the conversation freezes, leaving an awkward silence for a few moments between the three men. Eventually, Tyrian intervenes, shoving Thomas’ resume into Dexter’s hands, startling the young college student.

“Now, now, no time for formal chatter. We’ve got a tour and interview to conduct. Be a good helper and go drop that folder off on my desk, Dexter.” With a playful shove, Tyrian pushes the younger boy’s shoulder in the opposite direction. Nearly stumbling, Dexter takes a moment to adjust his glasses, watching as the two men walk away. There’s something odd about the whole situation, specifically who would drive a fancy automobile to a simple job interview. 

Staring down at his hands, Dexter’s eyes light up upon seeing the resume. Perfect. That’ll be his chance to get better at profiling people, maybe find out something interesting about this unusual stranger. He takes one last glance at the two men, making sure neither is paying attention to him, clutching the folder tightly to his chest, and running towards the back exit of the facility.

“Sorry for the sudden visitor, Thomas. I told everyone you’d be here today for the interview, but I wasn’t aware that everything would be so busy.” Tyrian slows down his stride, stopping directly in front of a large door, two frosted windows allowing for a small peek inside. Tempting as it is to question Tyrian further, the mystery of their new location has Thomas diverting his eyes inward, trying to discern the surprise before it happens. He can make out blurry shelves, long cabinets, but nothing additional beyond that. Tyrian reached for the handle of the door, sliding it open with a satisfying swoosh of air. 

The sudden burst of cold air, certainly caused by the room’s lower temperature, seeps past the fabrics of his suit, leaving Thomas feeling chilly. Once the initial shock has passed, he steps into the room beside Tyrian, quickly adjusting to the arctic-like environment. Seeing the walls lined with different thin and narrow metal cabinets automatically tells him why the room has to be so cold. Tyrian strides deeper into the room, stopping at a large table, which has the faint residue of blood and cleaning products on it. 

“Olivia! I want you to meet our interviewee. Stop what you’re doing and say hello!” Tyrian motions for Thomas to approach the table, but he’s distracted and doesn't immediately look up at the woman opposite of his position. Innate curiosity for what’s going on in here prevents him from being attentive, but the woman seems to pay him no mind as well, still cleaning the table off with a sparkling finish. 

“Ah, the last victim for the day. Apologies for the lack of a formal handshake, but as you can see, I’m in the middle of something important.” Olivia raises her glove-covered hands, once blue but now stained red in different places. Thomas simply nods, clearly assessing the situation, not requiring her formal gestures. 

“Thomas Carter. It’s a pleasure to meet you, ma’am.” It takes every bit of willpower to not stare at the blood-soaked gloves and to instead analyze the woman who clearly works in this morgue. The star and moon hairclips, among strands of black hair should indicate a goth persona, but her archaic choice to wear a suit and tie contradicts the first assumption. From underneath her gloves, he can spot a watch of unmistakable origin, Hamilton Venture, a brand his Grandfather once wore in the past. Stoic. Straightforward. Now he knows how to proceed. “I appreciate you taking the time to show me what kind of work I’ll be involved in.”

The last comment causes her to turn and face Tyrian, who’s suddenly become less joyful and more nervous. He hides that cue with a fake smile, but Thomas misses it, focusing on holding the conversation together. She’s already reaching for a nearby drawer handle, eyes resting firmly on Thomas.

“Huh. Well, I’m not one to beat around the bush.” With a strong tug, she pulls the metal drawer outward, revealing a half-naked corpse, covered from the waist down. It’s a young boy, probably no older than 21 based on his hairstyle and noticeable piercings. Tyrian instinctively gags, reaching for the purple handkerchief in his suit pocket, dabbing at his forehead. 

“A warning would be appreciated, Olivia!” With a huff, Tyrian steps away from the drawer, choosing to walk back to the door for some fresh air. There’s no noticeable odor around the body, Thomas deduces that this is due to the preservation of the corpse, a sign of how well Olivia does her job. As he examines the body, he can’t tell what the cause of death could be as there are no noticeable signs of bruising or stitches on the body. 

“So how did he die? Multiple piercings and long hair indicate that he’s a young adult...probably about 21?” If the sight of the deceased was supposed to scare him, Thomas has fallen into the opposite line of thinking, as he puts on hand under his chin thoughtfully. Olivia breaks her cold demeanor for an expression of shock, trying to process what’s happening at this moment. 

“Tyrian. Don’t waste any more time digging through resumes. You should hire him.” Her words get a reaction from Tyrian, who manages to calm himself down enough to respond. Seeing Olivia standing there, arms crossed over her chest, showing that she isn’t joking around.

“Ha. Really? You’re giving me the approval to hire someone?” His breathing is deep, finally regaining composure upon staring death straight in the face. Thomas merely looks between the two of them, uncertain on what to say next, but secretly grateful that she’s spoken up, given Tyrian’s questionable attitude at even wanting to bring him aboard.

“Yes. Your other candidates ran out of here stumbling or couldn’t keep their stomachs in check, and yet, Mr. Carter here barely bats an eye at the sight of someone’s corpse. He’ll do.” There’s no happiness or excitement in her voice, but Thomas catches a small smirk out of the corner of his eye, as she turns her back to the both of them. 

“Well then! Sounds like you and I should go back to my office and sign some paperwork, Thomas.” Tyrian wastes no time in flinging open the door, allowing it to close gently behind him. As Thomas follows suit, his eyes drift back to the silent corpse, catching Olivia’s attention in the process.

“The answer to your question from before, Mr. Carter, is that this boy died of alcohol poisoning. He was 22 years of age before his demise. This is a historic college town, so get used to seeing the young and old equally.” Once more her attention goes back to the body, reaching down to start removing the young man’s earrings. No emotion, just swift and precise actions, ones that Thomas could watch for hours on end. What kind of chemicals were used for preservation? Is there a special kind of makeup for the deceased? 

Alas, his questions will be left unanswered for today, as he can see Tyrian peeking his head back into the room. Walking towards the exit, he stops one last time to address his future coworker. “Thank you for sharing that information.” It feels weird saying such meaningful words, but she did give him a glimpse at death, satiated his curiosity, and put a vote of favor on his resume. Silently, he shuts the door, leaving Olivia to her devices. 

“Congratulations! I’m giving you the job, Thomas!” Without warning, Tyrian places one arm on Thomas’ shoulder, dramatically waving his other free hand outward. Internally, the murder party host groans, but on the outside, he manages a weak smile towards his new ‘boss’. At least he gets to work directly with the corpses of dead people, probably on his own, with likely no interaction with Tyrian going forward. 

“Great...When do I get to start?” Finally, he takes one hand and removes Tyrian’s arm from his shoulder. Talking is one thing, but touching is a completely unacceptable action that bothers him greatly. However, Thomas stays as calm as possible pushing his violent thoughts to the back of his mind.

“Tomorrow, if you’re up for it. I’ll get you your cleaning outfits today when we go to fill out the paperwork. You’re going to do great here, given how nothing seems to scare you.” Thomas stops dead in his tracks, looking over at Tyrian with a distressed expression on his face. 

Cleaning? That wasn’t what Felicia told him the job would entail. In fact, she seemed to imply heavily that she could forge his records and get him in as a mortician. Stumbling on his words quickly, there’s not much of a chance the killer can change his inevitable, janitorial fate. “What...No, I didn’t realize…”

“You’re going to be the best janitor this place has ever seen!” Tyrian, arms outstretched to the ceiling, simply seems to be enjoying the moment. Thomas simply sighs and massages his temples, feeling a headache coming on, whilst he does that he mentally reminds himself to ask Felicia later about why she omitted certain details pertaining to his new job. For now, he can breathe easily, knowing that blending in with society might not be as hard as he originally suspected.

The smell of coffee and freshly-baked cookies should be keeping Silas awake, but his attention is shifting between a desire for sleep and the case at hand. As midnight fast approaches, he’s huddled up in the foyer of a hotel deep within the heart of Columbia, Missouri. Late-night guests are trickling back to their hotel rooms from the indoor pool, dripping water onto mossy-colored carpets while others pick up a complimentary soda or snack from the rustic wooden foyer. 

He knows he should go to bed, get some sleep, that the past two days have proven useless to his search for the Trivia Murder Party Killer, and tomorrow he could check again but he had a feeling that if he looked enough he would find something. Certainly, he suspected the host would’ve come here next on his journey to sow mayhem and murder, but no one in the town has seen or heard of anyone suspicious driving through. New evidence came up during his travels, recovered by the Saint Louis police department. Pictures of the killer’s car, a PT Cruiser, but none of the murderer or his license plate. The arson also proved invaluable, remnants of the trademark ‘Loser Wheel’ were found in the wreckage. 

The media won’t admit that a serial killer is roaming free, leaving Silas to do all the dirty work for them. His eyes drift from the glowing computer screen, displaying countless hours of evidence, anecdotes, and even message boards dedicated to the Trivia Murder Party Killer’s actions. Anything and everything can be counted as a potential clue to finding the man who ruined his life years ago. It’s already been 2 years since that day... 

Off to his left, the hotel fireplace crackles with life, sending sparks of fire into the air, quickly contained by the metal cage barrier. Silas can’t help but stare into the reddish wisps of fire, taking deep breaths as he fights back the memories. Summers are supposed to be happy, especially in small towns not connected with the bigger cities, like Chicago or Indianapolis. But everything changed when the Host arrived, not with a bang, but a whisper. For weeks he slowly kidnapped victims, a few at a time, until two months had passed. 

It was in late August when the Trivia Murder Party killer had enough, choosing to set the entire town on fire, killing and harming many innocent people. Silas was there. Standing wide-eyed in the burning aftermath of the town square was the darkness-cloaked host, tall and lanky, long hair flowing over his shoulder. His mask was white as snow, concealing glowing red eyes, savoring every moment of the insanity. And by his side, a younger woman, dressed in police attire. Her hair matching the rising flames, curly and red like the burning sun. Laughter echoing in the moonlight, she moves forward, pistol in hand, pointing it at Silas. However, her movement stops in a split second, the serial killer host thrusting a knife into her back, sending her tumbling to the pavement. 

He has a choice to make. Chase after the sadistic game show murderer or save someone near and dear to his heart. Stumbling forward, he reaches for the woman, watching as she bleeds out, dying his hands red. Even in those moments, she’s silent, her once-green eyes are now black and red. The host simply walks away, dropping the knife onto the ground with a satisfying clink, allowing the shadows of the night to conceal his escape. 

Why did she do it? What was the purpose of all of this? 

Silas blinks wildly to get rid of the close-coming tears, no longer is the haunting elegy of his past, staring blankly into the hotel fireplace instead. Thankfully, no one is around to see his arms shaking or the expression of fear locked tightly on his face. Taking one last deep breath, he turns to face the computer again, better to place his attention on something less disheartening. Silas has to admit the internet is very good at providing distractions when necessary.

It’s impossible for him to figure out how or why certain resources for the Trivia Murder Party Host keep populating online, as the police and websites alike are constantly trying to shut down illegal sites mentioning the killer. When one goes dark, two more arise in its wake, bringing the past recordings of the serial killer’s sadistic gameshow back into the limelight. One website, in particular, is dedicated to trying to discover the host’s real name and identity. A simple web forum where people post astronomically dumb theories. 

“Well, It’s a starting point, I guess…” Silas reaches for his cup of coffee, taking a few idle sips while glancing over the most recent posts. There’s one forum that always gets a daily review: ‘ Trivia Murder Party Host’s Real Identity’. It’s full of charming individuals who clearly have too much free time on their hands, using the forum as a way of getting friends, family, and random strangers in trouble. The only reason he frequents it is because some of the users actually did catch a criminal a few weeks back. 

Nothing of interest jumps out, but he always makes it a point to reach out with a private email to anyone who has a somewhat legit idea of who the murderer is or where he might be hiding. There’s no way he’s finding the killer on his own at this rate. It’s only once he reads a vague description from the newest blog post of the day that a chill runs down his spine. Information about the poster is scarce, but he writes clearly about a tall, pale, and wearing loose black hair that starts setting off alarm bells is Silas’ head. Is it really the elusive Trivia Murder Party host? His appearance is bound to have changed over 2 years, but something about that scary thin silhouette from before haunts his memories.

It’s late and Silas, finally finding something of possible value, decides he should rest now. Before shutting the computer down, he does send a reply to the poster asking for more details. If it’s a dead-end, he can easily ghost out of the conversation. But if this kid has something of value, then maybe the serial killer won’t disappear so easily this time. Picking up the computer, he walks down the hall to his hotel room for the evening, unaware that one single anonymous poster will be the catalyst to something new.

Chapter Text

32 messages. There’s a time and place for everything, and for Silas, being woken up at 6 am with his phone notifications going haywire is not the way the sheriff wanted to start off the day. It was expected that he would be bombarded by anonymous people on the internet, mainly due to his unhealthy obsession with the Trivia Murder Party Killer and how it has led him to most, if not all, chat forums from the Pacific Northwest to the East Coast relating in some way to the killer in question. Everyone thinks they know who the killer is, or what they look like, but no one has seen them in person as Silas has. 

Picking and choosing relevant data is easy, almost like using a game version of Tinder, swiping away messages full of idiotic comments and theories with one stroke. By the end of the purging, Silas finds himself staring down at a phone with only two remaining blinking icons. One is a police officer from up north asking about the investigation, someone he’ll touch base with later and the other is from the night before. He remembers now, sending one last message to some random kid on a forum asking about the murderer’s identity. The awaiting private message is highly out of place in comparison to most.

From [trekisbetterthanwars1337]:

Hey, are you really a sheriff who’s seen the Trivia Murder Party Killer up close? Can you tell me more about him?

…

My name’s Dexter, by the way...

The message reads in a clean format, unlike the horrible lingo internet users typically provide, along with their horribly taken-photos. No. This one seems worth the effort. Silas has to think for a moment, wondering just what the best kind of wording for his answer should be, given that sharing data relevant to his case could be detrimental. The host has many ‘adoring fans’ and any one of them could tip the serial killer off to a rogue sheriff on his tail. This person doesn’t feel like that type, thankfully.

Yeah. I’m Sheriff Silas Calhoun. As for your question...That depends. What information do you have about the host? I can’t exactly share my knowledge with an untrustworthy source.

He’ll leave it at that for now, not expecting any fast results back from the follower. It’ll give him time to wake up, maybe shave for once, and hit up the continental breakfast for a warm cup of joe and a glazed donut. Before he can even get out of the bed, the phone buzzes in his hand, greeted by another friendly white envelope notification. It can be ignored, but he’s hard-wired to check everything and anything of value as of late. 

From [trekisbetterthanwars1337]:

I want to learn more about the killer. From what I’ve seen on the forums, he’s a male with a terrifying presence but is the type of guy who likes to show off... I might be thinking too much about it, but there’s a guy who fits that role at my job. He drove in with a fancy car and his resume seems a bit... strange.

Silas groans loudly, half tempted to throw his phone across the room in order to burn off a little bit of stress. Resumes and cars don’t exactly scream a ‘serial killer’ persona, but the person on the other line is right about the hosts’ gender. It’s one of his personal litmus tests since half the internet thinks the host is a woman, the undead body of Albert Einstein, or a Shiba Inu wearing headphones. Some people do think the killer is a male, but only one in four. 

Sorry but that information isn’t relevant to me. You’re going to need something more concrete, something I can investigate. A car or a strange resume won’t cut it, I hope you understand where I'm coming from here, right?

At the beginning of the investigation, Silas may have entertained the idea of someone suspicious, but too many dead leads have left him jaded. He has an entire town to avenge and no one seems to give a damn about a guy who murders people on a sadistic game show for a living. Society is falling apart and everyone is addicted to their own sinful pleasures.

Now fully awake due to the turmoil boiling inside him, he pulls aside the hotel bed covers and gets out of bed, his phone still tightly clutched in his hand. Despite wearing a sweatshirt and jeans to bed, he’s not warm in the slightest, but his heart is racing rapidly. 

“It’s nothing important.” He mutters, trying to assure himself in between deep breaths. Sheriff’s instincts are terrible and misleading, as Silas has learned the hard way, they’d often put someone in danger instead of helping to solve crimes. Getting up, he walks shakily towards the lone bathroom, dropping the phone on the white ceramic bathroom countertop, careful to keep it away from the sink. 

A tired and worn-down expression greets him in the mirror, crumpled bed hair, and the start of an unshaven face show as markers of just how long he’s been at this task. Months upon months of scouring police records, news reports of burned-out buildings, and survivors of the madman’s game. Yet, nothing has led to a conclusive lead on the Trivia Murder Party Killer. 

“She would be mad at me for being such a workaholic…” Running one hand against his scruffy chin, he reaches for the nearby razer blade and cleansing foam. His task is interrupted by his phone once more, buzzing in rapid succession. The blade is put down in order to pay attention to the needy electronic device, eyes growing wide upon seeing the attached photo. 

It’s of a red car, certainly from the 1950s given the shape and model, but the picture is blurry and unfocused, taken in a hurry most likely as the driver was speeding off. The license plate is partially visible, which is a piece of information worth notating.

From [trekisbetterthanwars1337]:

Are you sure this isn’t a weird car? Wouldn’t this be flashy enough for a killer to drive?

No. The evidence doesn’t indicate that this is the car Silas is looking for. Some of the police officers in Saint Louis suspect a different vehicle is at play, a small and less conspicuous type of transportation. This is a waste of time and Silas makes it clear in his last message to be sent. 

Listen, Dexter. Stop wasting my time. Unless you can present me with some solid evidence, I have no interest in talking with you. 

In order to avoid any further distractions, he simply turns off his ringer and places it to the side, feeling increasingly agitated at the situation. 

Fucking great. The whole conversation has put him in a much worse mood than before. What kind of kid thinks they can just waltz into his case and claim they know who the Trivia Murder Party killer is?

He can feel his blood rising in anger, frustration at the current case, and how nothing seems to be working. Taking the razor blade up, Silas frowns as he runs the sharp tool against his face, suddenly grazing the skin from the wrong angle. Blood starts to drip from his cheek, not a deep cut, but enough to break his calm demeanor. The razer blade is thrown into the sink as he reaches for a nearby towel, placing it over his skin. 

Life was never supposed to be like this. He was supposed to live a happy life being the sheriff of a small town, wife by his side. It’s easy to play most situations off as a carefree and confident sheriff, but at this moment, the mask comes off and merely shows the reflection of someone who has lost everything. Mustering his remaining resolve, Silas picks up the razor and continues the task at hand, knowing that moving forward is the only way to go now.

“I want you to know that I hate this tie with a burning passion.” Even with the allure of expensive coffee and elegant breakfasts, Tyrian has never been a morning person, especially on any day that starts at 8 am. Taking a sip from the disposable cup, he tries not to squirm as Amber adjusts the tie around his neck, making sure the knot is correct and straight. Making haste as she has no pleasure in taking care of someone much older than herself.

“How many funeral services do we handle weekly? It’s honestly astonishing how every day you walk in here unable to tie a Windsor knot without fumbling around like an idiot.” Letting go of the tie, she tilts her head one side, examining the makeshift job at dressing her boss. Once Tyrian raises a hand to flatten the striped tie, she sighs and gives up completely. 

“Stop talking to me like I’m a child. All I need to do is look presentable and talk nice things to people about how dear old Grandma lived a good life. Easy peasy.” He takes another sip of coffee, his eyes admiring the clean black dress and vivid yellow scarf Amber is wearing. 

Attractive as always. He winks at her with one eye, hiding a smirk behind his cup. Amber changes the topic as soon as she notices his ‘workplace inappropriate’’ gaze. She’s known the man long enough in her employment to understand where the conversation would drift if not derailed from his sexualized thoughts.

“That’s only one part of the day. What are you going to do about Mr. Carter? His shift does start an hour after we leave for the church. Have you figured out what’s going on for his first day of training?” Still feeling uneasy in the presence of Tyrian with no one else around, she unconsciously keeps her fists balled and close to her chest. However, upon noticing Tyrian’s lack of interest in making physical movements towards her and instead choosing to fish out the keys to the parked black Hearse in front of the building, her stress levels drop.

“I was planning on letting Olivia handle things. She can nudge him in the right direction and then go off to embalm some corpses or something like that.” He idly presses the key fob, causing the car lights to flash off and on with each cycle of the alarm. It takes every bit of patience for Amber to resist smacking the keys out of his grubby paws. 

“You haven’t told her yet, I take it?” This honestly wouldn’t be a surprise to Amber, as Tyrian’s impulsive natures have yet to win anyone over completely. He’s grinning to himself, still cycling through the buttons on the key fob maniacally. The funeral front door being opened breaks his concentration, giving Amber enough time to yank the keys out of his hand. From outside, Dexter approaches both of them nervously, his gaze resting firmly on Tyrian. 

“Mr. Disour, I’ve been asked by Ms. Moore to inform you that you should stop unlocking and locking the Hearse. It’s impeding her progress at getting the casket loaded up.” Although impossible to convey Olivia’s perfected cold stares, Dexter feels the message was delivered with enough importance. He’s had a rough morning of his own, but won’t share those distempered feelings with someone like Tyrian. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Actually, yes. You see, Tyrian neglected to inform Olivia that she’ll be training our newest hire and that’s not exactly going to work out. What are your thoughts on giving Mr. Carter some assistance today?” Tyrian tries to speak up, but Amber quickly holds one hand up, cutting him off from any immediate response. “I’ve left all the necessary equipment and the employee handbook on my desk. It shouldn’t be too hard to get him started, right?”

“I don’t think this is…” Tyrian is unable to finish his statement, as Amber points to the door with a stern expression on her face. He’s left confused at her sudden abrasive anger, but finally shrugs his shoulder and walks to the exit without saying another word. 

“I’ll do it. Keeping the extra work off Olivia’s plate is always a big deal.” Dexter has a reassuring smile on his face, as Amber pats him on the shoulder. It’s a mundane task, but there’s bound to be something new he can learn from the mysterious Thomas Carter. The perfect way to get additional information about someone is to be close to them, after all. 

“Thank you, Dexter. We’ll be back briefly around 2 pm and then off again for another funeral appointment.” She’s always tried to look out for him, and it’s a tall order asking someone shy to become a leader, but Amber has faith that he can handle the task at hand. Letting go of Dexter’s shoulder, she follows suit behind Tyrian, who’s waiting impatiently for her arrival. Being relegated to the passenger side seat doesn’t please him in the slightest, but no arguments occur in the parking lot and without missing a beat, the Hearse drives off the property slowly.

Dexter walks over to the desk, examining the items Amber left behind carefully. Nothing in the immediate pile gives him any new information about Thomas, as to be expected. Taking a deep breath, he takes a seat next to the desk, listening to the sound of the ticking clock in the receptionist room. Less than an hour. Soon he’ll get another crack at talking with Thomas Carter, and hopefully this time, he’ll learn something new about the man. Something to confirm his suspicions of an unusual person of interest or resounding evidence which will cause all his dreams to go up in flames.

The start of any new role is filled with anticipation for Thomas, the prospect of getting to study the behaviors of other people carefully, but unfortunately no longer for the purposes of kidnapping or torturing them. Gone are the days of reckless violence, trading away for a chance to watch humanity from afar without suspicion. This is a new mask he must wear, for now, the one of an unsuspecting janitor who simply wants to make ends meet, even though his real self is completely different. And today is the starting point for that new adventure.

He’s punctual as any good employee should be, arriving a few minutes before his scheduled time, finding a parking spot close to the front door of the funeral home. There are only a few other cars here, most likely belonging to his newfound co-workers. He can learn who drives what later, approaching the front door with a large duffel bag under one shoulder. Tyrian told him that he could change into his uniform on-site, so having the bag there for storage is a logical thing to do. However, not seeing the red-haired gentleman at the front desk is somewhat concerning. 

“You’re early...That’s a good sign.” Thomas turns his head to the receptionist’s desk, seeing the shorter and blonder nerd from the day before, standing up and approaching him with a handful of items. He didn’t have a very memorable name, so Thomas simply nods and gives a light wave to seem friendly. Act normal and friendly, because these people are going to be in his life for an indeterminable amount of time. Best to start things off on the right foot. 

“There’s probably some quote out there about timeliness, so I wanted to set a good example for my first day.” He extends one hand outward, eager to take the offered items from Dexter, especially after spotting something shimmering in between guidebooks and manuals for cleaning. Upon closer inspection, he can see a set of keys and it takes every bit of patience to not smile like a maniacal killer. “Dexter, right? Forgive me, as I can be bad with names.” 

“That’s correct. Or if you prefer formal terms, Mr. Penfield will work also. Tyrian and Amber are actually out of the office for most of the day, so I’ll be here to give you the rundown on the requirements of your job. First off, here’s your training manuals and the keys for the building, Mr. Carter.” The goods are exchanged seamlessly, giving Thomas a chance to glance at everything in detail. “It might seem strange to be given such guidebooks, but when working around our equipment, you’ll need to know what chemicals can be used.”

Even though he should be focusing on teaching, his eyes steadily observe Thomas for any unusual movements, weird reactions, or statements. None of those things seem to pass, as the two of them walk into the hallway, stopping in front of a large door marked ‘Maintenance’. “You’ve also been presented a set of keys which give you access to every room in the funeral home. As you can guess, this is the supply closet. It’s...not very exciting, but it’s where you’ll find all things necessary for the job.” 

Dexter puts on a fake smile, trying to appear as friendly as possible in order to get Thomas to open up to him. In spite of Dexter’s attempt at feigning amiability, it only comes off as being weird to the older gentleman, who just watches intently. Finally, Thomas puts on a smile, strides forward, and puts one hand on the closet door handle “I appreciate you sharing that information with me, but I imagine you have other things to do and places to go.” 

He’s ready to be left alone, but the nerd is clearly not budging or moving. “Wait...wait, there’s a specific set of directions for you regarding the job! The first rule is that you’re never going to clean two rooms in the facility: the storage area for our deceased and the crematory. Both of those areas are specifically off-limits unless Olivia instructs otherwise.” 

“Why’s that? It is because people have locked themselves into those rooms before or...?” The response is certainly not what Dexter was expecting, as he nervously rubs the back of his head. Thomas can’t help but smile and laugh a little at the reaction his co-worker is giving off. “Not a fan of anything scary, I take it?”

“No! I can handle any of the processes that take place! As for your question, Olivia tends to be very specific about how her work areas are. She’s the one who handles all the bodies and has a particular way of ensuring those areas stay sanitized properly. There might be a few days where she’ll ask you to do something, but it’s up to her discretion.” Dexter isn’t good at saving face, clearly disturbed by whatever work goes on here.

“Ah, makes logical sense. Anything else I should know before I get started?” Now he’s just entertaining Dexter’s ego while attaching the keys to his belt loop for safekeeping. Nothing about this line of work seems hard, just time-consuming and messy in spots. “Or are you going to be walking behind me today with a white glove on to make sure I get all the dusty spots cleaned?”

“Do you want me to?” Dexter immediately clams up upon letting his secondary intent known through words. There’s a not-so-subtle look of confusion on Thomas’ face as Dexter scrambles to recover from his mistake, laughing awkwardly. “No, no. I won’t be doing that, but I am here if you have any other questions or concerns!” 

“Alright then, if the casual formalities are done, I should get started.” Thomas opens up the storage closet, his eyes already glancing over all the tools and equipment kept inside, mentally remembering which things can be used for unscrupulous tasks later on. He’s impressed to find everything sorted and organized neatly, instead of things being thrown haphazardly into corners. Instead of immediately leaving, however, Dexter takes a few steps backward. 

“One last thing, Mr. Carter...I’d be more than happy to take your bag and place it in the office. That way you can get started without worrying about lugging your belongings around.” Trying to ask any more questions seems like a bad idea, for now, so the secondary plan seems much more doable. If Dexter can get a peek inside the bag, he might find something interesting inside, like bloodied clothing or sharp knives. 

Without giving him resistance, Thomas takes the bag off his shoulder and drops it into Dexter’s unprepared arms. He nearly drops it, but the weight isn’t heavy or unbalanced. In fact, there are no sounds that indicate anything metallic is inside. Unbeknown to the college student, Thomas hasn’t packed anything incriminating inside, mainly having no reason to do so.

“Hopefully it’s not too heavy for you.” With a smirk on his face, Thomas turns his back away from Dexter calmly, one hand reaching for a broom mounted on the wall. He’s had to clean his old basement hundreds of times, and if he can keep blood-stained carpets clean, this funeral home should be a breeze. “I’ll check in later if I have any other questions.” Which will honestly never happen.

“Of course! Good luck on your first day!” Walking away nervously, Dexter manages to calm himself down long enough to get a good grasp on the duffel bag, before heading further down the hall and taking a sharp left out of sight. Being alone helps to calm his nerves, and despite any temptations to open the bag now, he decides to wait. It wouldn’t be hard for Thomas to come around the corner and catch him snooping. Instead, he can drop off the bag and hunker down at Amber’s desk for the day in order to take advantage of the security cameras discreetly hidden around the facility. Tyrian once told him the cameras were turned off ages ago, but upon learning that the devices were still functional, Dexter kept the secret to himself. Establishing a safe distance is the key, especially since the new guy has no real intent on talking.

He takes a few additional steps forward, sliding open a long glass door, which leads into the mandated offices for each staff member. Rows of modern-day computers have been placed side by side in an open-air style desk formation. Even though Tyrian has his own personal office, this space is for anyone else working in the building. The anticipation is killing Dexter, as he places the bag down on the nearest desk, eager to see what’s inside.

His fingers are on the silver zipper pull, before his head jolts upward, noticing that Oliva is sitting just a few feet away. Her gaze has shifted from her own computer screen to stare at Dexter curiously. “What are you doing?” In that instance, he feels like a deer caught in headlights, scrambling to come up with an answer.

“I was bringing Mr. Carter’s personal belongings into the office so he could get settled in for the day…” Dexter immediately takes his hands off the bag, but seeing Olivia’s eyes narrow doesn’t reassure him that the excuse worked. When she points to the bag, and then to the desk, Dexter realizes the mistake made in haste. The desk is decorated with cute puppy pictures and full of makeup supplies. 

“You’re placing his stuff on Amber’s secondary desk?” It’s probably an honest mistake, but she’s never seen Dexter so jumpy before, let alone how he quickly picks up the bag and moves in one space over. Normally she’d expect him to take care of objects more carefully, but the way he drops the bag down suddenly is shocking. Why is he afraid of an average-looking duffel bag?

“M-my mistake! I’m going to go on ahead and get going now! I’ll be jumping back and forth between the front desk and making sure Thomas is settling in nicely.” Better to escape the conversation than to stand here and get grilled about his actions. With a quick bow of the head, and before Olivia even has the chance to stop him, he’s already walking out of the office quickly. 

“...I don’t understand him sometimes.” Olivia mutters to herself, shifting her eyes between the door and Thomas’ bag, before returning to her work on the computer.

The day doesn’t drag on forever, much to Thomas’ surprise, as he was expecting boredom to creep in after the first hour. Upon being left by himself and taking a few minutes to idly glaze over the company handbook, he’s left to explore the entire funeral home, pushing a convenient cart along from room to room. For someone who was supposed to train him, Dexter is nowhere to be found, except for the main receptionist area. Thomas catches him on the phone more times than not, relieved that the nerd is preoccupied with other things, unaware that his actions are still being watched.

The building is oddly quiet at all times of the day, most everyone being out on other assignments or huddled up in their corners of the funeral home doing work. He’s left to his own thoughts, for better or for worse, but it makes for an easy time getting tasks done. Being a janitor isn’t a glorious job for many, but he can tell that the business was probably renting out a cleaning company in the past, as many spots which should’ve been dirtier are manageable. Even the break room, an area notorious for disgusting fridges and unwashed dishes, is surprisingly unused.  

Doing anything suspicious on the first few days would be in error, as Thomas has detected that Dexter is keeping a firm eye on him, along with anyone else who walks past him in the hallways. No one seems to care how long he spends cleaning a particular area, like the break space or the consultation room for visitors, which makes for a relaxing process altogether. The rest of Monday goes by without a hitch, rarely anyone saying anything around this place. 

Not much changes during Tuesday, Wednesday, or Thursday as most habits and routines have been discovered by now. The only sight that bothers Thomas is how quickly Dexter scurries away from him on sight, often huddling over one of the many computers located in the office space. So far, the best part of the job so far is the closing cleaning duties, giving him ample time to examine the workspaces of his fellow co-workers, enjoying every moment spent stealing their personal information. No one seems to leave their computers unlocked alas, leaving for any bits of fascinating history to be discovered in the documents abandoned in a rush on desk spaces.

A developed hierarchy has been established by who controls certain rooms in the funeral home as Thomas has discovered. Tyrian has his own majestic office, filled with exotic silk rugs and leather furniture imported from Europe, along with an overly stocked liquor cabinet. He leaves out no relevant information pertaining to the funeral home and Thomas has seen more borderline pornographic magazines than desired, making sure to dust around those materials carefully. The owners apparently have their own office next door, but Thomas has yet to find a key that lets him inside. 

After 5 pm, Amber often leaves her receptionist desk for the evening, giving him enough time to shift through the appointment book for anything interesting. She keeps makeup and compact mirrors everywhere, along with calendars full of cute imagery, boys and dogs alike. Her and Tyrian both have an obnoxious habit of leaving disposable and ceramic mugs full of coffee at their desks, leaving Thomas to make multiple trips to the break room. Curiously, he’s learned that she has a small black book on her personal desk which has financial documents and bank statements alike. Turns out she’s always breaking even or spending more money than she owns weekly.

Dexter is not exempt from Thomas’ attention, rather the college student has become a mainstay for sob stories and necessary laughter. At first, his desk, covered in different books ranging from computer science to sudoku seems typically cliche for his egghead coworker, but within his desk drawers were surprising facts. Apartment and job applications, mock criminal justice tests with failed scores, and a recent bill from a therapist. Even smart people have their own weaknesses. He takes extra caution to ensure Dexter’s desk looks untouched every evening. 

Lastly, Thomas can’t help but root around the personal space of the in-house mortician, Olivia. Typically the first one in, last one out, it wasn’t until late Thursday evening that he got the chance to ‘clean’ her desk thoroughly. She keeps her space neat and clean, save for a few photos of herself, posed in front of Universal Studios with a bunch of horror movie icons, or standing next to a mascot Pikachu. Oddly enough, he never pegged her for the type to like childish things, but perhaps there’s a hidden secret in everyone. Hers just happens to be cute electric rodents. 

By the time Friday morning rolls around, Thomas is feeling fairly good about his first week of work, although boredom and curiosity are quickly setting in. On a whim, he peeks into the morgue cooler to find no one inside, eyes drifting to the assortment of chemicals and tools Olivia has left neatly on the processing table. It’s then that he notices one of the pull-out drawers left slightly open, a gray tag drifting off one side of the drawer. 

He takes a quick look down the hall, seeing no one coming, before slowly opening the cooler door. No time to dawdle, as he puts one hand on the drawer handle, sliding the corpse outward. He was expecting an older body, but instead, a red-haired woman is staring up at him with lifeless amber eyes. She’s wearing a college hoodie and Thomas spots the cause of death immediately. Her neck and wrists have three long cuts along the vein line, now stitched up by Olivia’s careful hand, although blood still remains on her skin. 

“Suicide.” Out of all the types of death, this one still gets a moment of pause out of the serial killer. The pain of living, equally matched by the sorrow of death. His mother used to say that people who hurt themselves are truly selfish beings, with no care about the consequences of their actions towards the environment or other humans. Years ago he may have mourned for this wayward soul, but now she’s just another statistic on the board. At least her death has satiated his desire for death and murder for today, as the drawer is slid back into place properly.

“What are you doing?” Thomas jerks his head around quickly, seeing Dexter’s surprised expression greeting him at the door. He was alone just a second ago, so how did the nerd get here so quickly? Was he hiding in the hallway out of sight? This is not the situation Thomas expected to find himself in at the end of his learning week. 

“The drawer was ajar so I came in to close it. Is that okay or can leaving it open cause problems later down the road?” There’s a rush of questions going through Thomas’s head, mainly trying to figure out how to get out of the current situation unscathed. He can feel Dexter’s gaze piercing through his round glasses, a sudden burst of confidence has been bestowed upon the younger boy.

“The directions were clear on Monday! You’re not supposed to be in here under any circumstances!” Instead of letting him leave with a slap on the wrist, Dexter continues walking forward, forcing Thomas’s back to the wall. “Why were you in here?”

“I just told you the reason. Do you want an apology or something?” Not like Thomas wants to give him one, but he did get caught in a place where he shouldn’t have been. Instead of letting Dexter corner him, he starts pushing back, overshadowing the college student by a few inches, making it easy to loom overhead. “Just let me get back to work.”

“N-no! I have questions for you!” Dexter balls his hands up into a fist, staring up at Thomas with newfound courage. It wavers by the second as Thomas’ eyes narrow, his posture becoming less inconspicuous and more terrifying. Both men are broken out of their combative trances with the slamming of the morgue door, forced to stare upward at an agitated Olivia. 

“I turn away for five minutes and you two are in here doing who knows what.” She doesn’t even need to approach them, Dexter immediately jumping to his own defense, giving Thomas a moment to calm down. Did his eyes change color? Hopefully not, given the forced situation causing his anger to rise.

“Let me explain everything! He was…” Dexter turns and points to Thomas, but there’s no time for either of them to react. Olivia’s hand hits the nearby metal table with a resounding echo, stopping the conversation cold. 

“Both of you can leave. Now.” She’s not getting paid to babysit two grown men, and her patience is already being tested after a long week of work. To see them both having an argument in her only place of peace is the breaking point. Dexter lowers his head and walks out of the cooler room without saying another word, however, Thomas hasn’t budged from his spot. 

“I apologize Ms. Moore. This was my fault.” He picks up the abandoned cleaning bottle and rag from the other end of the table, seeing her initial agitation slowly tapering off. Instead of a scolding, she does speak up, leaving him with a haunting piece of advice. 

“Consider this your free pass, Mr. Carter. Speaking from personal experience, try not to find yourself in any instances where mistakes can occur. Even one slip up can lead to your demise..” There’s no malice in her words, but Thomas can feel the severity in mentioning death, metaphorical, or literal. He simply nods, stepping back out into the hallway to find that Dexter has all but vanished. For the best, as getting into another argument right in front of the morgue cooler would be less than ideal. 

Resuming his cleaning duties with diligence, Thomas hardly notices the clouds settling outside and the calm chirping of crickets, signaling the end of the day. The pounding of rain against the windows finally takes him out of the work, realizing that his shift ended an hour ago. Returning the broom in his hand to the nearby supply closet and loosening his hair tie, as he’s about to head towards the office, but is stopped by the sight of Tyrian strolling down the way. 

“Thomas, you’re still here? Figured you would’ve been out of the office already.” Tyrian’s positive attitude isn’t even deterred by the fact that his well-manicured black suit has some water on it, his hair puffed out more than usual due to the humidity in the air. Whatever product he put in this morning has all but vanished with the storm. 

“I let the time slip by, got too busy cleaning and all. Guess I should call it a night.” He gives a quick nod to the office, waiting for Tyrian to give him an opportunity to leave. It’s been a long week and quite frankly he’s ready to go home and have a hot cup of chamomile tea and a relaxing bath. At least with working this job, his clothes aren’t stained with blood, but dirt and other easy-to-clean materials. “Have a good evening.”

“Whoa! Hold up just a minute! This is our usual Friday night drinking time, so you should join me and Amber for a good time. The owners typically stop by and we invite some friends over for a makeshift party. This week we’re breaking out luxury Junmai sake from Japan and having sushi.” As if on cue, from the guest consultation room, Madonna’s melodic voice booms loudly into the entranceway, singing dramatically about time going by slowly. With a polite shake of the head no, Thomas politely declines the offer as gently as he can. 

“I’m not much of a heavy drinker, plus I’m allergic to shellfish. Maybe next week once I’m not so tired?” A ruse, because certainly, he’s never getting drunk with his coworkers, especially given the potency of alcohol. Sure, it would be great to hear their secrets, but that street goes two ways, and getting plastered in exchange would be horrible. Tyrian seems content with the idea of a future gathering, simply shrugging his shoulders in acceptance.

“Sure thing! I promise you’ll see me more next week, barring we don’t get a lot of funeral proceedings scheduled. We’ll have to hang out after work sometime, go to an improv show, or something casual like that.” Tyrian gives him a pat on the shoulder, before walking towards the music and awaiting company. His touch is never comfortable and Thomas swears that one day he will find an excuse to break Tyrian’s hand and wrist.

Finally being left to his own devices, Thomas shrugs his shoulders and starts the long walk back down the hallway. Stepping into the dark room quickly, he sees one computer screen on in the distance. Olivia is huddled over the keyboard, typing feverishly while occasionally adjusting the wireless earbud headphones in her ears. She doesn’t even notice Thomas walking over to the desk near hers, reaching down to grab his keys, duffel bag, and umbrella. Seeing his hand moving in the shadows is enough to pull her attention away from the amber-colored screen. 

“Mr. Carter. I figured you’d be gone by now.” Everyone around this place must enjoy asking about his departure time, but instead of dealing with Tyrian’s obnoxious personality, it’s Olivia’s neutral gaze peering up at him curiously. Holding up the set of keys with his free hand, he simply nods in greeting to her. She hasn’t brought up the incident from earlier, which is a good sign.

“Sorry for disturbing your work, Ms. Moore. I needed to grab my stuff before heading home. Are you planning on closing up shop soon to go drink with Tyrian?” The answer seems obvious enough, but it would be nice to ask Olivia questions about her line of work. The amount of time and effort she puts into maintaining the ethical code of the deceased has caught his attention more than once this week.

“No. I was just updating some of the finance charts and inventory counts for this week before heading home. Tyrian would have to pay me millions of dollars to stick around and share a drink with him.” As if to drive home her point, she locks the computer screen, standing up shortly after to retrieve the suit coat draped over her chair. Throwing the gray coat on over her simple black button-up shirt and tie, she picks up the leather messenger bag at her feet, choosing to hold it by the handle. “Enough about me. Did your first week go well? Omitting what happened earlier, of course.” 

“It was different from what I’m used to, as changing careers isn’t exactly easy at times, but I think everything will be fine. The type of work doesn’t bother me, everything just feels unfamiliar.” Thomas follows behind Oliva as she walks out of the dark office, locking the door behind her. The walk back to the entranceway isn’t quiet or calming, the throbbing noises of pop music can be heard from the other half of the funeral home. 

“You’re in a new place and a new role. That’s a normal feeling to have, but it’ll be interesting to see how you handle the next few weeks.” Walking briskly beside Thomas, she has a tight grip on the messenger bag in her hands. He seems like a normal person to have a conversation with, unlike the other people who work in the questionable funeral business. “I’ve seen the care and attention to detail you put into the janitorial job. Keep up the efficient work, Mr. Carter.”

“Please, just call me Thomas. We’re off the clock and there’s no need for formalities between us.” He stops at the entrance door, staring out into the pitch-black parking lot, where a torrential rain pounds on the glass windows. Thunder and lightning dart across the sky, causing the clouds to glow blue and yellow for a brief moment. Taking the umbrella out of his left hand, he points it away from his body, before opening the device suddenly. “It was nice getting to chat with you for a bit."

“Until Monday then…” She slips the leather strap of her messenger bag over one shoulder while removing a lanyard with a set of keys attached to it from her pocket before the sudden realization of her mistake hits like a bolt of lightning. No umbrella. Most certainly it was left by her desk in a rush to escape the office, which has inevitably delayed her exit by a few more minutes. She turns away from Thomas, but he’s already processed the situation she’s in, calling out to her quickly. 

“I can walk you to your car tonight.” He’s confident that the umbrella can accommodate two, and to be fair, it might give him a chance to ask more questions. Olivia approaches him once more, visibly defeated at her lapse in judgment, as he raises the blue and yellow duck patterned umbrella over his head. 

“I’m sorry to inconvenience you like this.” She carefully lowers her head in order to situate herself underneath the protection-coated material, trying not to think about how close she is to Thomas. There’s enough room for the two of them, but Olivia understands the importance of personal space. She reaches for the door handle, opening the pathway outside so they can both walk side by side to her car.

“I extended the offer to you, so there’s no need for an apology.” Thomas pauses for a moment, but Olivia quickly presses the unlock button on her key fob, lighting up the location of her car. It shouldn’t excite him to see that she's a good distance away from the front door, especially not a torrential storm. “If I may ask, what made you choose this line of work?”

Between the idle pattering of rain against the umbrella and their footsteps leaving watery puddles on the asphalt, Olivia finds herself at ease at this moment. So much, in fact, that the question is acknowledged and properly addressed, even though she would normally deflect inquiries about herself. “It called to me in a way I can’t describe with words. Someone must maintain the principles of life and death, the equal balance each provides to the world.”

The answer is full of mystery and confusion. A calling? Is that what his indescribable need to kill would be classified as? Thomas frowns, holding onto the umbrella tightly. “So you would say it’s destiny or fate? Are people simply subjected to the whims of a higher being, forced to live controlled lives?” 

Olivia taps one finger against her chin in thought, her walking speed slows down upon approaching her black Mitsubishi Eclipse, lingering just beside the driver’s side door. She wasn’t expecting such deep and philosophical questions from Thomas, but the surprise is welcome. “I won’t deny that I believe in higher beings, but what they do or control is completely beyond my understanding. As for fate and destiny, those are merely concepts we imprint upon life-changing events to explain the unknown.” 

She takes hold of the handle, swinging the door open gracefully in order to take a seat in the driver’s chair. Instead of closing the door, Thomas is shocked to see her sitting there without any indication of leaving, simply putting the key into the ignition. Olivia keeps her head turned to him, but what can he say about that statement regarding fate. It’s too much to think about and she can see the visible distress on his face. 

“You wouldn’t ask that question unless you’re troubled by something uncontrollable. The unknown will try to consume us at every turn, but if you can even find one reason to focus on the present, something to fight for, then you can break past the preconceived concepts of fate and destiny. That might not be the answer you wanted to hear, but you asked for my honest opinion.” Olivia turns the car on, the engine roaring to life and the bright headlights cut into the dark night.

“No, I greatly value your insight towards the matter. I suppose I have a lot to reflect on in the coming days.” His grip on the umbrella tightens, feeling the plastic handle start to react to the unnecessary pressure. “I want to talk with you more about the mortuary science field.” 

“Not tonight. Let’s see if you can get through next week without quitting. You can come at me then with all your deep philosophical questions and I’ll show you what kind of answers death has to offer. Until then, just relax. You got through a chaotic week and didn’t visibly crack. More people around here should be as diligent as you are.” She moves to shut the door and he gingerly steps away from the Eclipse, but Olivia is already unrolling the window down. One last word to get in. “Thank you again for walking me to my car without doing anything unusual. I initially presumed you to be like Tyrian, but I'm glad that isn't the case."

“I'll take a compliment when I hear one. See you on Monday, Olivia.” Even though she says nothing else, in the seconds it takes for her to roll up the window, Thomas sees her nod in approval. Watching her car glide over the stagnant pools of rainwater, he’s once again alone in the cold and dreary storms. But maybe, if only for that moment, he has faith that something positive might be around the corner.

“So, what’re your thoughts now, Sheriff Silas Calhoun?” 

Normally Dexter wouldn’t bother to actively call someone on the phone, especially late at night, but he’s had a grueling week to gather up more evidence. He’s in the privacy of his own home now, nowhere need the watchful eyes of his idiotic coworkers. Pacing the kitchen floor with anticipation, Dexter’s eyes shift from the ongoing storm to the phone on the table, waiting for Silas to reply.

It was almost impossible to find concrete evidence until he caught two instances of Thomas doing things that would seem unusual. The incident in the morgue cooler room was suspicious, but it turns out watching almost 40 hours of video recordings proved to be of value. Silas finally speaks up, confirming that piece of evidence.

“I took a look at your information, Dexter. Let me just say that it’s rather eye-opening and definitely not what I was expecting you to present. While I still think most of it is a stretch, the biggest red flag is the break room footage from Wednesday afternoon.”

Ah. Dexter smiles, knowing full well what happened that day. Thomas had gotten up to get a cup of coffee, leaving his reading materials in plain sight. A book about knitting dolls left in plain sight of a running camera. No normal grown man spends their time researching knitting, let alone bringing in baked goods for unsuspecting coworkers. 

“What’s the game plan now? If he’s really the Trivia Murder Party Killer, then we have to catch him.” Despite feeling good about the situation, Dexter’s confidence dies off upon hearing Silas sigh loudly. 

“I’ll make my way up there to do some additional investigations, and once the necessary facts are in place, he’ll be arrested.” The sheriff has no intention of letting a kid do all the hard work, not when he’s spent so much time on this particular case. In retaliation, Dexter adamantly replies back with fear. 

“I want to help you as well! If I can do something good for the criminal justice field, then maybe…” Maybe his parents will let him venture out on his own, to do whatever he likes, instead of putting him into a predetermined role. “At this point, you and I are connected to this case.” 

Much as he hates the idea of having a partner, let along a newbie college student, Silas relents. Either Dexter will force his way into the case anyways or the sheriff can let him come along for the ride, simply put it’s easier to nip the problem right now instead of dealing with a meddling college student later on. 

“Alright. I’ll be up there sometime next week. For now, don’t do anything suspicious. If this Thomas Carter is our guy, we need to keep him on our radar.” Silas knows what will happen if they spook the guy and he ends up running away. “Just stay on your guard. I’ll see you soon.” 

The phone call ends quietly, as Dexter slumps down in the kitchen chair, his energy used up. Finally, this is his big moment to show everyone how smart he is, to gain the recognition he deserves.

Chapter Text

Even though the farmhouse isn’t his official home, Thomas has every intention of making the rental property feel like a welcoming place to be. Even though Felicia didn’t give him any additional information on how long he would be staying, the dusty old house needed care, which he’s more than willing to provide. Waking up early Saturday morning, he’s already made it a point to clean the place after breakfast, unaware that his work habits were now seeping into other avenues of life.

Having more time to examine the old house, Thomas realized that the previous owner never left any photos of themselves anywhere, when he thought about the furniture and layout of the house he realized it was most likely just used for rental purposes. It’s a comforting feeling knowing that the original owners won’t drop in for a sudden visit, although that does mean any sort of maintenance is all on his shoulders. Like going to the grocery store to keep the fridge restocked and cleaning all the linens. Annoying tasks at best, but it’s better than living in a run-down motel or sleeping in an abandoned building. 

With most of the arduous tasks out of the way by midday, Thomas can’t help but feel the need to get back into the kitchen, where all of his stress can be transferred to cooking. Even if dear old dad hated his fascination with baking cookies and breads, Grandma was always supportive. Examining all the different cookbooks left untouched in the kitchen, he’s amazed at all the unique recipes for sweets. Some of them are obscure, many are from different countries, and each one looks delectable.

“Hmm...What kind of after-adult responsibility snack sounds the best?” He mutters to himself and after a few moments, a metaphorical light turns on in his head, snapping his fingers instantly in realization. “Ah, I know! Mother always was a fan of Black Forest cake.” 

The classic oven should be able to accommodate and enhance his creation, along with the modern commodities provided by the homeowner, like a state of the art mixer. After tying his hair up into a pony-tail to keep it out of his face he began scrounging through the fridge and starts neatly placing ingredients on the glossy countertop. As soon as all the prep work is done, he makes sure to preheat the oven before getting to work on the actual cake.

While mixing the ingredients together, the taste of metal lingers in the air, the soft sounds of birds are replaced by the shuffling noises of the hotel staff. Even if the historical building is used mostly as a bed and breakfast, his family still takes pride in running a well-oiled murder hotel for the sake of it. People have to be convinced to stay there, after all. 

“Your blades were dull, Thomas. I went on ahead and sharpened them for you.” Thomas’ eyes widen, recognizing the voice creeping closer to his form. Felicia assured him that no one else was staying at the farmhouse so why-

His eyes darted to the right and widened, no longer seeing the farmhouse interior, the scenery distorted into dark red brick walls covered with large green curtains, the familiar interior of the old family hotel greeting him once more. To one side, his grandmother stands, wearing an elegant black dress and holding a long belt full of various knives. 

“N-Nana? How did I…” Glancing down at his clothes, the wardrobe is not what he was wearing before, replaced by a fanciful chef uniform and apron. The last time he wore this outfit was in his 20’s, right before his departure to college. 

He knew where he was just a few minutes prior, but this house has a weird tendency of dredging up lost emotions and memories. This was just a strange dream, right?  Maybe he had just dozed off while stirring the batter and this was all in his head and now some cursed hallucination.

Even though Thomas has no idea or reason to, he grabs the offered knife belt, buckling it around his waist quickly. The worn leather feels rugged under his fingertips, real to the touch.

“So, how is the baking today, Tommy? Are you going to let me have a piece of that Black Forest cake once you’re done?” She smiles, patting his shoulder gently as he reaches for a nearby wisk. The thought of having her here makes all of his stress and worries fade away, causing his latent aggression and turmoil to vanish almost instantly. 

Strangely, he begins to speak. While the voice very clearly belongs to him, Thomas feels simultaneous like he is the one speaking and not at the same time, “Oh, yes Nana, would you care for an extra slice? Since Mother doesn't particularly like my culinary skills... ” He stops stirring the ingredients together, but Grandma simply squeezes his shoulder reassuringly. 

Even since Dad vanished, Mother hadn’t exactly been the same. She had been giving him half-glares whenever they would accidentally meet eyes in the halls, her voice was now colder and harsher than before whenever they spoke to each other, and she acted in ways she never would have before upon hearing his desire to head to college to pursue a baking degree… After what happened, whatever bond they shared now laid 6 feet underground with the countless amount of silent corpses. Reconnecting with her was simply impossible.

"Of course, Tommy, it is my favorite after all! Even if it wasn’t I wouldn’t have minded, your talent in baking is a fine one. From what I saw on the telly, the poisoned Snickerdoodle cookies went over well on the East Coast. Your death count is into the hundreds now, and once we get you established in the West Coast "baking scene, that number is sure to grow.” Grandma always was the best at encouraging him and Thomas’ eyes started to well up with tears at her kind words, despite him now knowing that he was suffering from a deathly realistic-looking hallucination caused by the family curse, he couldn’t help but let a few tears fall. It all felt so real, too real even. 

“Thank you, N-nana,” He internally cursed at his quivering voice but continued, “I’m glad I could make you proud.” Despite knowing what will happen in the future to his dysfunctional family, Thomas isn’t mentally prepared for his Grandmother’s loving arms around him. She’s just so happy to see him chase his dreams.

“My little Grandson is growing up so quickly! You’re going to sow so much chaos and anarchy, while also being in the spotlight you so rightfully deserve. It’ll be sad to see you move into the college dorms, but I think this adventure will hone your killer skills and talents.” Pulling away from the hug, she still has a joyful smile on her face, knowing that Thomas needs all the support he can get. “Just remember, at the end of the day, you should love what you do. Find that special friend or someone that you can be yourself around.”

“Are you hinting that you want an additional member of the family?” He takes a nearby cloth, blotting at his eyes, wiping away those tears of joy. Killers don’t need friends or lifelong companions, especially not him. His Grandma simply laughs, placing a hand on her hip confidently. 

“I would enjoy that, yes, but I want you to be happy first and foremost. You have no friends or people to share the joy of life and death with! Go out in the world and find yourself! This old hotel will be waiting if you ever need a place to come back to.” He looks down at the unfinished cake batter, a sadness lingering in his heart. Though her words mean well, this is a vision of the past and he knows how the future will turn out…

“It was good seeing you again, Nana.” Damnit. He’s not supposed to be crying, but his head is now on the kitchen countertop, weeping deeply into his hands. She gives him one last reassuring pat on the shoulder, before walking away, her footsteps growing silent. Years have passed since that moment when he was 23, wanting to carve out his own destiny. 

“You turned out to be a failure after all…” Dad’s disapproving voice echoes from him behind Thomas’s back, as the serial killer reaches for the knife resting on the countertop. The blade pointed angrily towards the doorway. Both Father and Mother’s silhouettes standing in the distance, before disappearing into the shadows.

The knife previously held by Thomas falls to the ground with a resounding clatter. Feeling defeated, he crumples to the floor, the strength he had from that burst of adrenaline is now expended. Again his mind is flooded with haunting apparitions of the past, semi-realistic visions that muddle with his senses. 

“The curse...it all felt so real…”  His voice is shaky as tears freely flow down his face with no signs of stopping, leaving him a whimpering mess of flesh, struggling to regain his composure. At least this experience was better than the meltdown he had the week before, no blood to clean up this time around. Still, Grandma’s words echo deep in his mind.

Find someone you can be yourself around.

Thomas takes a deep breath, standing up once more and walking over to the kitchen table, where his work notebook has been placed. His crying has stopped, taking the towel wrapped in his apron to his face in some desperate attempt to clean up. Taking a seat, he flips open the book, greeted by all sorts of notes and drawings. 

Light pencil sketches of the people he’s met the last few days, accompanied by detailed notes regarding his new coworkers. Could he realistically become friends with Tyrian? Amber and Dexter are completely off the table as well due to their personalities. And then his gaze stops on the assembled dossier surrounding Olivia. Her nature is oppressive, but she’s the one who holds all the cards on death.

Maybe her knowledge might be able to shed some information on the curse in his family bloodline, assuming he can break past her stalwart defenses. Then again, the conversation on Friday left him with a brief sense of optimism, similar to something dear old Nana would say. It’s worth a shot, especially since he’s had time to analyze her weak points. Confident with the knowledge he had accrued during his previous week, he feels he doesn’t need to wait until the end of next week to win her approval. 

With a revived feeling of vigor, he walks over to the kitchen counter and starts flipping through the cookbook once again. Things are going to go his way and his answers lie in the art of baking. 

It’s 7 am on Monday morning when Thomas slips into the funeral home, before anyone else, with the specific intent of catching Olivia for a few key minutes. Getting a peek at the schedule on Amber’s desk last week tipped him off to the timelines his fellow co-workers follow, Olivia typically being the first one in every morning, at 7:15 sharp. Thomas quickly walks towards the break room, turning on the lights, then dropping off his bag on the nearby table.

Every morning, before any activities get started, she comes into the break room in order to make a cup of hot chocolate. Olivia brings her own mug, prepared, and ready, so all he has to do is cut any additional steps out of her day. Turning the expensive espresso machine on, he reaches into the fridge and pulls out a fresh container of milk, pouring a cup into the brewing device. 

He gets a few minutes of reprieve, and given his shift doesn’t start for another hour, Thomas takes the extra time to brew himself a mocha latte. Sitting down at one of the smaller break room tables, he removes a notebook from his bag and begins flipping through the different pages idly. In his spare time, it’s been rather cathartic to sketch out any future game show ideas, to keep his senses sharp. New traps, new games. Anything to keep his past achievements fresh in his mind.

Taking a look through the notebook full of idle drawings, his gaze stops on a page full of images depicting his former and rejected voodoo doll designs. Much as he loved the previous incarnations based on the eight deadly sins, it’s time for a new change on the old favorites. It’s been difficult coming up with something new, but inspiration is bound to strike sooner or later.   

Right on time, walking into the room wearing a simple black suit and blue tie, Olivia stops immediately upon seeing Thomas sitting at the table. It’s one thing to have received a text message from Dexter saying he would be missing work due to allergies, but it’s another surprise seeing Thomas beat her into the office. This Monday is truly shaping out to be different than most. 

“Good morning!” Thomas’ cheerful greeting snaps Olivia out of her morning trance, turning to face the janitor quickly. Everything is off rhythm today, and seeing his smiling face welcome her into the break room is completely disarming. She stops walking to the fridge, nodding politely to him out of courtesy more than anything else.

“...Good morning to you as well. You’re in a little early today.” It would be rude to resume the task at hand, so Olivia simply stares at Thomas, holding her purple-colored mug carefully in one hand. For a second, she lets her gaze drop down to the notebook on the table, catching sight of the strange sketches her coworker has drawn up. Voodoo dolls? That’s interesting, but for now, she wants to know why he’s here.

“Well, I wanted to get started on a few things before everyone else rushed in. Specifically, I have some questions for you, Olivia.” He stands up but doesn’t move towards her, simply pointing to the espresso machine with one hand. As expected, she turns her head to the device, noticing that a warm batch of milk is already waiting for her. She’s able to put two and two together within seconds, his early arrival was to prepare for her and this is his doing. “Do you have a few minutes to spare?”

“I leave in 15 minutes for a funeral service, but until then, you’ve got my attention. What did you want to talk about, Mr. Carter?” Olivia grabs a nearby spoon and pours the milk into her mug, the scent of warm chocolate permeating the air. Stirring her drink, Thomas finds himself focusing on the small clicking noise the spoon makes when touching the ceramic mug. 

“I had some time to think about what you said last week, about fate and destiny. Right now, I don’t have a clear idea of what I should be doing, but my family has been close to death for a while now, which by proxy, has dragged me into it.” He watches her stance suddenly relax, as Olivia leans back against the countertop, sipping idly from her mug. She’s processing his words carefully, judging silently. “That’s why I’m working at this job. I need answers.”

“What specific questions do you have? And why would you come to me? The internet has a wide amount of information to comb through.” Good questions indeed. Thomas nods a little in admission, before continuing on.

“I’ve had years to read up on different topics and I’m not getting any closer to the truth. I need…” Help? The killer freezes up for a split second, not wanting to admit weakness or the reality of his intentions. Olivia is there to be used as a tool to get information from, nothing more, and he needs to be careful to not reveal his murderous past. “A second opinion. Someone who’s seen death at a different angle than I have.”

He didn’t answer the first question. Olivia frowns, placing her mug down on the countertop, crossing both hands over her chest thoughtfully. Thomas’ intent doesn’t resonate with any malice or trickery, but she’s left confused at his sudden direct approach. She’s only known the man for a week, and here he is, asking for her input on death. 

“I’ve done this job for 5 years, and you’re the first person who’s just directly walked up to me and started asking questions. To be honest, I don’t know if I have any new information to tell you that the rest of the world hasn't already shared.” Thomas lingers on her words for a second, notating the specific details she’s highlighted. Being independent. Devaluing her knowledge. Two critical pieces that say a lot about the suit-wearing woman, who hides behind a cold exterior. 

He smiles at Olivia, walking over to the fridge, opening the door without saying another word, her eyes are already following his movement. Removing a long rectangular container covered in foil, he takes a deep breath and turns to face her once more.

“I’d at least like to hear your thoughts on death anyways. Even if it’s stuff I’ve heard and seen before, I still value your opinions.” Thomas places the container on the table, lifting up the tinfoil to reveal a perfectly baked Red Velvet cake roll. Everything he studied last week, the personal habits of his co-workers, all compacted into a simple baked treat. 

Between his words and this bold approach, Olivia pauses to process the situation. Being told that her opinion matters is a foreign concept, something no manager or coworker has said in years. Quite the opposite, in fact, her knowledge and skill being abused without question. None of it would’ve mattered, but the cake adds a new dynamic to this conversation. 

He wouldn’t know, right? That this was her Grandmother’s specialty: Red Velvet. The action feels deliberate and Olivia racks her brain for an answer. Last week was the only time for him to gleam that information. But she didn’t say anything, and certainly, she never saw Thomas talking with anyone else about her. It hits her like a bolt of lightning in that split second of thinking backward: the information was never gained through conversation.

Thomas, still wearing a smile on his face, is already cutting a slice of the cake roll. Everything clicks in Olivia’s head, right as Thomas offers her the plated piece of cake. Last Wednesday she was busy, feeling a bit overworked and secretly depressed, and Amber had tried to comfort her with a store-bought piece of cake out of nowhere. Red Velvet was the choice. Alas, the cake was barely edible, discarded to the trash after a few bites. 

Something she devalued in an instant, reversed and changed anew. He’s the janitor, and the fact that he took that little piece of information from her garbage can is equally disturbing and impressive. It’s been a long time since someone has challenged her intelligence, and yet, Thomas seems like the type to do so. She takes the offered cake, nodding politely to her company. Don’t say anything that could be revealing.

“You’re bribing me now? Can’t say I’ve ever had this happen before.” Taking up her fork, she cuts off a portion of the cake, eager to sample Thomas’ wares. Any doubt she had about his offering is gone within the first bite. The texture is correct, real cream cheese instead of artificial white icing filling, and no bitter aftertaste from overused dyes.  

Nostalgic feelings rise up within, and Olivia takes a moment to close her eyes and process what’s going on here. This isn’t the time to show emotions and she quickly returns to a calmer state of mind. “Where did you buy this? It’s one of the best Red Velvet cakes I’ve ever tasted.”

“...I personally made it.” Thomas feigns modesty, but it feels amazing having someone tell him that his baking skills actually matter. Years of dealing with backlash from the family seem miles away now. “I went to school for 3 years in order to study food science and baking. It was a career path that had promise, but family obligations tore me away from it.” Thomas shrugs his shoulders, wrapping up the leftover cake and returning it to the fridge. 

Olivia seems perplexed by his situation, in between additional bites of cake, she has a bit of time to think about his current predicament. “You’re selling yourself short then. This is amazing and you should be out there baking in a kitchen instead of mopping floors or collecting garbage..” 

“Well, that door closed a long time ago.” It’s much harder to avoid mentioning a family business based on murder, or the fact that he was a game show serial killer, but Thomas hopes Olivia understands his situation. “I’m lost right now, stuck between two scenes, so this place gives me a bit of comfort.”

“Because you’re surrounded by death? I get that feeling. It’s part of the reason I chose this career path.” Thomas’ eyes go wide upon hearing that, but to be fair, it makes logical sense. An appreciation for death is needed in this line of work. “Maybe you and I do have something in common though.”

“So are you still against the idea of sharing your knowledge with me?” Thomas stands only a few feet across from Olivia, waiting to hear her answer. It’s just like seducing a victim for kidnapping, but she’s resilient to his whims. 

“No, I think…” It’s the sound of a door opening at the far end of the hallway which gets Olivia’s attention instantly, Thomas turning his eyes to the sound as well. “Dammit. Tyrian.”

She reaches into her pocket for a pen and a small white business card. Scribbling down a phone number and time, she offers the card to Thomas. “I want to talk with you more about this later. But I don’t want Tyrian, Amber, or Dexter to know that we’re having these conversations. Personal reasons.”

“Sure thing. This will be our little secret.” Thomas smiles, taking a quick look at the business card, noting the address. It’s Olivia’s defense mechanism that equally gets his attention. She must not want her coworkers to think she has emotions or even cares about anything but her job. Fair enough. He’s quick to pocket the card away, right as Tyrian bursts into the room. 

“Happy Monday, everyone!” There’s a collective sigh between the two of them, as Tyrian tries to place a hand on Olivia's shoulder. She’s already moving against him, quickly raising her arm to block his incoming gesture. There’s a moment of shock on the red-haired man’s face, but he simply shrugs his shoulders in resignation. “Olivia, is everything ready to go this morning?” 

“Yes. I just wanted to sneak in a quick drink before we headed out.” She quickly offers Thomas her empty plate and mug, which are taken without a single word exchanged. “Apologies in advance for leaving you my mess to clean up, Mr. Carter. I hope you have a good rest of the day.”

It takes the killer a few moments to process what just happened, standing down at the used plate, a smile resting on his face. Weird. He shouldn’t feel excitement or joy in this, given the reason behind his actions. But it’s that last statement Olivia mentions which sticks to his bones. They have something in common. She also  liked what he made, didn’t discard it on a whim as Mother would’ve. 

He’s going to have to fight every instinct known to man to not kill Olivia immediately. 

“You’re in a better mood than usual, Olivia.” 

It's one thing to have a coworker who stays consistently stoic, but Tyrian has noticed that something is off today, simply based on Olivia's speaking voice. Normally devoid of emotions, there's a strange amount of optimism present around her today. "I figured you'd be dreading an early Morning wake-up call."

“It’s your imagination. That or everything is going better because I've had my hot chocolate and Dexter called out of work sick." She takes a moment to adjust her tie while walking down the hallway, noticing that Tyrian's eyes are still resting on her persistently. Maybe this best to divert the conversation onto something less pertaining to her and more about Tyrian’s area of expertise. "What's your history with Mr. Carter? When you brought him in for the interview it seemed like the two of you already knew each other.”

"We’d never met before that day, but he's friends with my matchmaker who called in a favor, so…I had to pay her back. She won’t hook me up with any new dates and this was my attempt to smooth shit over with her.” Tyrian stops at the front door, pulling a set of car keys out, extending them to Olivia. Before she has the chance to grab them, the keys are jerked away. "Why are you asking, Olivia? Is he already getting on your nerves?"

"No. He's handling every task we throw at him with ease, as if this job is nothing more than a game to him. He’s also not like Chad, which I will take any day of the week." Satisfied with her answer, he offers up the keys once more. She takes them and opens the front door, being greeted by the rising early-morning sun. "Can you give me your dating counselors contact information?"

"Wow. Now I definitely know something's off with you. I happen to have her business card on my desk. I'll get it to you once we get back to the office." He feigns distress, draping himself over the door handle to get her attention. "You wound me, Olivia. Trying to find romance online instead of dating me. I thought we had something magical.”

"Stick to flirting with Amber if you really need to scratch that ‘dating a coworker’ itch." She walks further away from him, towards the parked Hearse, leaving Tyrian smirking manically behind her. He can’t help but rub his chin, murmuring something under his breath.

“What are you scheming, woman? I’d be interested to know.” He runs one hand through his curly hair, taking a moment to hide his expression, before joining her at the car. Things at this funeral home were boring before, but now it seems like something interesting is on the horizon.

6 hours. Dexter had his suspicions about Silas from the get-go, but he never expected the uptight sheriff to ditch him on day one of the investigations. He knew that Silas was two hours away, but it doesn’t take nearly three days to drive halfway across the state of Missouri. The promised arrival time was 12 pm, smack dab in the middle of Dexter’s summer break, so he called out of work just for this meeting, one that never ended up happening.

“I hate him. What kind of sheriff does this? We were supposed to meet up at noon and he’s not here yet. Did I scare him off? Is he not taking me seriously?” The library where they were supposed to meet is about to close and Dexter simply wants to go home at this point. Sitting outside on a nearby bench, he at least gets to enjoy today’s weather and it has been nice to be out of the funeral home. “I can’t believe this is happening…” 

“Hey, you ended up sticking it out! That’s a good sign of our future partnership!” From behind him, Dexter turns sharply to see an older man, wearing a rugged cowboy hat glancing over his shoulder. In one hand is a small bag full of donut holes, soaked with grease. He wasn’t paying attention, so the newcomer caught him off guard. No normal person would wear such a gaudy touristy hat except for a sheriff full of pride.

“What the hell?! Was this a joke to you?” Immediately standing up from the bench, Dexter visibly frowns at Silas, not amused at his late appearance nor his flippant attitude. His fists are balled up in anger, rightfully annoyed at everything that’s happened thus far today. “Why weren’t you here at noon?!”

“I had to see if you were being followed or if you were really serious about chasing down this serial killer.” Silas merely laughs, tipping the hat like a gentleman. Patience has gone out the window as Dexter raises his fist, but Silas politely grabs him by the wrist. “Calm down! I apologize for wasting your time, but I can see now that you’re dedicated to the task at hand.”

“You are something else entirely. I’ve never met such a flippant officer of the law.” Silas lets go of Dexter’s wrist, and he immediately rubs at the spot where he was held. Nothing hurts, it’s just easier to calm his anger by thinking about that interaction. “Also that hat is ugly, so please take it off. Real sheriffs don’t wear gaudy cowboy leather hats anymore.”

“I think it has character. There’s a lot of great little shops along the Missouri highways full of little secrets.” Stylishly he takes off the hat, rolling it along his arm, then flipping it back onto his head with ease. It’s strange seeing the hardboiled hand of the law being so calm in the face of potential danger. 

“Is this whole case a joke to you? You had time to stop off and go tourist shopping, but left me sitting here for six hours as a test?” Wouldn’t be the first time some ‘friend’ abandoned him for selfish reasons. Dexter lowers his gaze to the concrete pathway and Silas picks up on the moody nature of his companion. Even if the kid is going to be partially working with him on the case, it would be good to understand where the nerd is coming from.

“Come on, let’s go chat for a little while. You seem visibly upset and it’s not just related to just this case, I take it.” Silas motions with his head towards a nearby path that leads around the neighborhood. He really shouldn’t take the offer, but Dexter relents, walking hesitantly next to Silas, both hands shoved into his pockets.

“So, why are you so gung-ho about getting involved with one of the most prolific serial killer cases in the United States currently? Be honest with me, Dexter.” Silas takes the bag of donut holes and opens it up, the overly sweet scent of glaze filling the air. Politely, Dexter refuses the snack, leaving him to enjoy the sugary snacks alone. “You seem like the type of person who does better work behind the scenes.”

“I don’t really get a say in my fate. My family has a long lineage of working in the criminal justice field. I’m currently in my second year of college for Forensic Science. They’re expecting a lot of me, but I really don’t feel connected with the type of work.” Dexter’s gaze is on the path in front of them, seeing different groups of people and families alike enjoying the summer season. “Maybe this whole thing is just me trying to find my footing in the field.”

It’s hard not to let his mood slip into a depressed state, but Silas catches on quick with his sharp instincts, gently encouraging the conversation forward. “I know. I did a little bit of research on the way here. Your grandfather was a famous detective and your mother just recently was on the news for breaking up a major telemarketer scam. It seems like you have a big lineage to live up to.” His family never had a history in law, but Silas understands where the youth is coming from. 

“Ah, I should’ve guessed that you’d do your own background check on me. No secrets to hide from a sheriff of the law.” Dexter kicks at an idle peddle of the pathway, with enough force to send it tumbling into the grass. “So is this the part where you tell me to go home and leave the job to the adults?” Instead of getting a firm scolding, Dexter is surprised to see Silas shake his head no. 

“You’ve got something to prove, right? Also, you’re in direct contact with this Thomas Carter character. I normally try not to get civilians involved because of the risks…” His calm demeanor seems rattled at the thought of more people dying due to the Trivia Murder Party Killer. For someone so confident before, Dexter can tell that the man wants what’s best for everyone. “But I sense that you’re determined, and that says a lot about your character.”

“Well, if I can do one good thing, then maybe I can find the courage to stand up to my parents. Or maybe I can find my own courage. I don’t know anymore. It’s so hard being forced into a role that isn’t who I am..” Dexter frowns, looking over at Silas desperately. He’s not prepared for the follow-up line of questioning from the sheriff. 

“You were the Valedictorian of your high school graduating class, with a perfect 4.0 grade. Even your first year of general education went very well, but then all of it came crashing down when you started taking courses pertaining to the specific degree. You’re struggling to find your place in the world, aren’t you?” Dexter stops walking upon hearing his personal information being directed back at him, as Silas simply manages a smile in response. Before he can interject, Silas continues talking.

“I don’t think you need a case involving a serial killer to find your inner strength or to find your inner identity. Talk with your parents, Dexter. I’m sure they’d listen to what you have to say. I know if I had a kid as smart as you, I’d praise them in whatever path they decided to take.” Without missing a beat, he forces the remaining bag full of donut holes into Dexter’s hands. “But if you really think catching a serial killer will change their mind, then I guess there’s no going back on this case.”

“Sheriff Calhoun…” Years of being looked down on and being judged for his intelligence, and yet this man from nowhere has truly touched his little heart. Mom and Dad would never say such emotional things to him, even when their son was clearly struggling. Clutching the bag tightly to his chest, he nods confidently. “Thank you for letting me help you. I promise that I won’t make things worse.”

“Let’s make a different pact. Promise me once this is over, you’ll talk to your parents about changing college careers, regardless of the case results. Okay?” With a confident nod, Dexter manages a weak yes, trying to not shed some tears of happiness.

Silas knows the next piece of news isn’t going to be as heartwarming, so he does his best to wait until Dexter is calm before presenting him with new evidence on the case. “So, I took a look at the Plymouth Fury’s license plate with the local DMV. It’s registered under one Felicia Carter, who’s a family member to Thomas Carter. Nothing unusual there, alas.”

“He did say it belonged to a family member. I guess the question now is, where do we go from here? From what little information I’ve seen in person, he’s very quiet and doesn’t do anything out of the ordinary.” Dexter takes a moment to open the donut bag and to treat himself to one of the glazed dough balls. Surprisingly, the snack does wonders for his mood. “Honestly, I think he’s on edge since last week when he got caught in the morgue.”

“Yeah, that bit of information seemed odd, but it doesn't give us a lot to work with. We can’t take insignificant information to the police and expect them to give us a warrant.” Silas slips one hand into his pocket, another hand tilting the hat further down his head. For some reason, Dexter feels like the last statement is personal as if this isn’t Silas’ first rodeo. 

“Maybe we need to set a trap and bait him out? Give him a false sense of safety and then wait until he slips up?” Traps involve other people and Dexter knows that it would be unwise to drag the innocent into this affair. The fewer people who know, the better. “We could follow him after work, see if he goes out somewhere unusual.”

“No go on the trap. We need to keep this under the rug until the arrest happens.” Silas shakes his head no at the first suggestion but seems on board for the other half. Staying in the shadows is the right call, so as to not spook their suspected murderer. “I like the idea of stalking him since he’s bound to slip up or drop his guard. For now, I’ll have you keep watch at work for any weird behaviors, and in our spare time, we can both use the local police force for their databases.”  

“Sounds like a plan. Starting tomorrow, we’ll get a head start on building the case. He comes into work at 9 am, so why don’t you show up there and park somewhere inconspicuous. You can watch from the outside and I’ll keep tabs on him inside.” Huh. Silas manages a smile of approval, Dexter’s plan is certainly a good one, better than his brute force attempts with the police.

“Alright, we’ll go with that attack plan and change accordingly. I’ll stop by the courthouse tonight and get some documents on the host. You need to know what kind of monster you’re up against here.” Silas nods confidently, extending one hand to Dexter in a formal shake. “Don’t worry. Between your knowledge and my sheriff skills, we’ll find the truth.”

“Yeah, together we’ll solve this.” Taking his non-dirty hand, he confidently shakes Silas’ hand, sealing their inevitable teamwork. The path forward may be difficult, but if they can change the world for the better. Dexter knows that humanity will thank them.

Chapter Text

To say the anticipation is killing him would be an understatement. Rarely has Thomas ever been excited to do something outside his normal routine of work, sleep, and plotting inevitable murders. The day simply crawls by at a slow pace, with only Amber occasionally checking in to see how the cleaning is going.

It’s hard not to say anything to Olivia during the day, in the fleeting moments where they’d pass by each other for a split second, before rushing off to do more work. His departure time out of the funeral home was certainly bound to be sooner than Olivia’s, as even after changing back into normal attire, she was knee-deep in a closed-door meeting with Tyrian. Based on her language from before, waiting would be a bad idea.

Modern-day technology makes it easy to input directions into a phone, leaving little room for error to occur. Thomas is half curious, half afraid of what’s going to happen next, let alone the secrecy towards the meetup location. The business card had no name on it, just a location and a phone number, neither of which pulled up any results on search websites. Going in with even a partial idea of what to expect seems impossible at this time.

The drive is short and sweet, 20 minutes from the office, and into a small borderline town outside of Liberty, away from all the college hustle and bustle. He parks his car in front of a large farmhouse-shaped building, two stories in height. Certainly, the place doesn’t look questionable, and he would know a spooky or scary place at first glance. It would be easier to just go home, but he came here for information and nothing will dissuade him.

Reaching for the ornate metal door handle, he pulls back the door, greeted by jingling bells. The long-forgotten scent of cedar, musk, and old books fill his nose, a welcome ambiance from the dreary outside world. Shelves are lined with different antiques, retro toys, and random knick-knacks. It's a completely opposite sight than what he was expecting.

What kind of fantastical world has he walked into? Immediately he starts wandering through the antique store, reaching out to touch anything unbreakable that catches his attention. Finally, he's pulled into an aisle full of retro mugs and cups, carefully picking up a nearby golden goblet shaped like a skull. The piece looks like it was pulled directly from a long-forgotten altar or temple.

“This would be a great addition to my chalices collection!” He flips the cup over, catching sight of the price tag, immediately pacing the item back onto the shelf. “Yikes. That’s a hard pass from me. It’s probably just a replica anyway.” Maybe in the future, he can come back with some extra cash to pick up some of these wicked cool chalices, but for now, they’ll have to wait. 

Instead of lingering on things he can’t afford, it’s simply easier to continue his trek throughout the antique store, noticing that each aisle is thematically arranged by time frame. Certainly, it would be fun to spend hours staring at Matryoshka dolls of Queen Elizabeth, Frankenstein, and kangaroos, but his attention is on anything from the 1990s. 

Despite the abuse before and after Dad’s departure, it was still the generation he grew up in, full of colorful toys and sugar-coated dreams. Finally, he stumbles upon a large display of retro metal lunch boxes depicting superheroes, mint-in-package figurines, and sealed copies of old board games. 

His eyes grow wide, picking up a large pink box with a large mall printed on the front of the box. “My gosh, it’s Dream Date with all of the pieces!” He had a dog-eared copy of the game while growing up, playing pretend by himself, talking with fake people over the plastic pink phone. The conversations weren’t always about love, mostly him talking about whatever thoughts came to mind. On reflection, the lonely hours in the hotel probably contributed to his insanity.

“Those were the days, not having to worry about adult responsibilities.” He puts the board game back on the shelf, turning his eyes to a boxed up Chucky doll, which sits next to a weird-looking ventriloquist puppet wearing a suit. “Ugh, who would buy their kids something tacky like this?” Especially a product named Billy O’ Brien. It’s like toy creators in the past got a kick out of terrifying or traumatizing children. Not that it’s a bad thing either.

“Looks like you’re having a good time.” Spinning around on one foot quickly, Thomas sees Olivia standing at the other end of the aisle, a smirk on her face. Walking down the aisle, he can’t help but notice the minor changes in her gestures, specifically how she can’t help looking at a few of the items lingering nearby. 

“I’m a 90’s kid, Olivia! This is like getting to relive the good stuff about that timeframe. Crazy surgery snacks, hours spent watching game-shows, light-up shoes...” He closes the gap between them, not caring that he sounds immature or childish. This entire experience, from the location to the conversation, is completely entertaining. “You grew up in that timeframe, right? I saw all the pictures on your desk of characters like Pikachu and such.”

Immediately, Thomas stops upon seeing Olivia bristle under his comments, her eyes narrowing. Realizing he’s admitting to snooping around, he starts to speak up, but the black-haired woman raises one hand. “You’ve done this twice now, learning about me through indirect means. I should be upset, but I can respect your cleverness, Thomas.” 

“Really? Your outward appearance implies anger.” The compliment is nice, but he’d rather play things calmly. “I figured you would’ve yelled at me by now if I really crossed a line. Or just simply blown me off. One of the two.” 

“I’m not upset. It’s just been a long time since I’ve had to stay mentally focused and attentive around another person. I welcome that change though.” She gestures for him to follow, and not wanting to be left behind, Thomas walks at her side. Past the winding shelves and glass cases full of trinkets, left frozen time. “I’m glad this place makes you feel at home though.”

“It’s perfect for my needs, as I hate going to really crowded locations and being surrounded by people. Always makes me feel like I’m being watched…” Thomas sighs, shoving his hands into his pockets, mainly to resist touching anything. “But why an antique store? Wouldn’t a park or somewhere outdoors have sufficed as well?”

“Well, I saw your sketchbook from before and figured you were a fan of mystical and wild things.” Thomas gets a little nervous, trying to hide his surprise at Olivia’s keen observation skills. She’s equally paying attention to his moves, which makes sense given his observant behavior, making it hard to hide his surprise at her statement. The additional line of questioning doesn't help either. “What were those drawings you were working on, by the way? It looked like a set of voodoo dolls.”

“You guessed it in one! I used to do a lot of traveling to New Orleans to learn about voodoo practices, stories about ghosts, their afterlife cultures, and how the dead move on.” Carefully navigating past the narrow shelves of merchandise, Olivia seems impressed by what he's saying so far, almost as if she’s captivated by his tales. “My original design of dolls needs revamping, so I’ve been using my spare time at work to think up ideas.” 

Someone talking about spiritual items, like voodoo, doesn’t seem to visibly disturb Olivia at all. In fact, she shrugs her shoulders, gesturing to the items around them with a welcome wave of the hand. “I’d like to see more of your work sometime then if you’re willing to share it. Rest assured, being in a morgue is a good way to find those dark and dreary feelings. You might find some inspiration here as well.”

"Or by talking with you. I get the feeling that you have a great deal of knowledge when it comes to otherworldly topics." He pauses for a moment to glance at a nearby walking cane, picking it up with one hand carefully. An intricately carved silver raven rests on top of the metal handle and the weight of the cane indicates that something is hidden in the sheath. Probably a blade, if Thomas has to guess. "Is that a fair assumption?"

Olivia manages a nod small of her head, happy at his assessment. "That's correct. I believe in a lot of crazy paranormal and spooky concepts. Multiple dimensions, paranormal experiences...Mention a subject and I've probably read about it somewhere."

"I want to ask you about ghosts and curses in the future then. The topic is rather personal and I could use some additional insight." He shakes his head a little upon seeing a 4 digit price tag on the cane, looking up at Olivia with a joking smile on his face. “You think I could get this for free if I ask nicely?” 

"We can talk about anything you like at dinner. It's been a long day and I could use a drink." Her movement continues onward, past a long row of clocks, before stopping at the check-out station. “I know the owners and they aren’t the type to let priceless antiques go for nothing, though you could ask, give them some puppy dog eyes or bribe them with baked goods. That worked with me.”

"I'm not an alcohol kind of guy, but a glass of light red wine does sound enjoyable. Maybe something like a nice pasta or soup to go with it." He's rambling and daydreaming at the prospect of a warm meal, already enjoying the benefits of this 'normal' lifestyle. Olivia simply takes stock of what he’s saying, filing away that information for later. Both of them stop walking upon approaching the front of the antique store.

A large blue fish tank, full of colorful marine life, is positioned behind an oak countertop where a few registers from the 1920s reside.  It certainly fits the exotic portion of the antique store and has easily caught Thomas’ attention, enough that he misses the sight of a woman sitting behind the counter space. She’s a thin and muscular woman, sporting spiky, short aquamarine-colored hair, eyes glanced down at a large tablet in front of her. In her mouth is a candy cane, presumably peppermint, based on the green and red striping. 

Thomas finds his attention suddenly turned away from the woman, upon hearing the happy barks and snuffles of a fawn-colored pug, who’s sitting in a large fluffy dog bed next to the counter. Even while carrying the cane, he can’t help but walk over to pet the adorable dog under the chin. Olivia, meanwhile, approaches the woman who’s finally turned her eyes away from the electronic device.

“Yo, ‘Livia. Been a while since you popped in for a visit. I’m assuming the old man called you about an order?” The woman is trying to hide her disdain towards whatever digital game she’s been playing, immediately showing surprise at Thomas’ appearance. Seeing the mortician bring any sort of company around is certainly out of the ordinary.

“He did. If you can have it dropped off at my place later, I’d greatly appreciate it. I’m a bit busy today with my new company.” Instead of leaving her perch at the counter, the other woman just tilts her head curiously in Thomas’ direction, mimicking her pug companion. “Cordelia, this is Thomas Carter. He’s a new coworker that we recently brought on at the funeral home.”

“Well, well, well. Never would’ve expected you to bring someone here, especially since you're married to a shitty job and whatnot.” Cordelia smiles, and for a split second, Thomas sees how oddly sharp and white her teeth are. With renewed vigor, she extends one hand to him happily. “Pleasure to meet you, Thomas!”

“Glad to meet you as well, Cordelia.” That’s an odd way to describe their work environment, but maybe it’s an outsider’s perspective looking in. Thomas has to hold his questions back but eagerly takes her hand for a shake, the pug whining at the sudden loss of attention. “I’m really enjoying your shop here! It’s refreshing getting to step back in time for a little while.”

“Thank you for the compliment! My mom and dad have been big history buffs for years, so collecting different antiques is a nice secondary hobby for them.” Her attitude is too bubbly for Thomas’ tastes, but at least the mohawk-wearing woman is respectful of his personal space, letting go of his hand quickly. “So, you and Olivia work together now? Are you a mortician or a cremator?”

“I can dream, but no, I’m just the guy who sweeps the floors.” Thomas shrugs his shoulders, fully expecting some backlash for revealing that fact, but it never happens. Cordelia just bobs her head a few times, almost uncertain on what to make of the situation.

“Huh. Well, if you’re someone Olivia trusts then I guess you can’t be that bad of a guy, even if you are the custodian. Doesn’t matter what kind of work you do, just how much effort you put into it.” Thomas turns around to see Olivia’s disposition growing slightly agitated, almost regretful of her choices. She shouldn’t be, given he’s having a blast, but it’s then that he realizes Cordelia is staring down Olivia fiercely. “I’m glad you brought her around as well. Glad to see she’s finally acknowledging my existence again.”

“...I simply used your storefront as a suitable meeting location, while also taking care of my personal business. I see now that was a mistake on my part.” Olivia is about to turn away, but sees Cordelia slipping out from behind the counter, her eyes standing firmly on Olivia. The entire room goes quiet, except for the pug’s slow breathing. 

“Still isolating yourself from all of society, eh? Can’t even spare a few minutes to have a normal conversation with me?” Cordelia takes the candy cane out of her mouth and points it aggressively at her suit-wearing friend. Instead of lashing out, Olivia simply takes a deep breath and turns away. “You think I’m going to let you walk in here and not say a damn word to me?!”

“Thank you for your time, Cordelia. I’ll see myself out.” Thomas takes a deep breath, saying nothing as he watches the two so-called friends having this noticeable spat right in front of him. Sure the fight didn’t last long, but he’s learned something new about Olivia’s personality and history from those few minutes. “We’ll meet back up again outside, Thomas.”

“You apathetic jerk…” Cordelia mumbles under her breath, clenching her fists tightly, as Olivia disappears from her sight. She’s all but forgotten Thomas is there until the glimmer of the cane catches her eye. Oddly enough, her personality shifts back to be positive, apologetic even.

“Sorry for that bullshit. She tries to come in when my Dad is the only one around since we have a lot of unfinished business between us. Guess that plan failed today.” She points to the cane with one finger, giving Thomas an excited smile. “So, you wanna make a purchase?”

“I can’t even begin to pay the price you’re asking. Sorry if I got your hopes up on a sale.” Thomas is about to place the cane onto the countertop, but Cordelia grabs his wrist quickly. Her touch feels different from before, cold and slippery like he’s handling a fish. 

“Whatever, it’s yours. Just be sure you don’t poke an eye out with it. It’s a 19th-century blade that’s still sharp.” She lets go of his skin quickly. “Consider this advanced payment as a promise to not backstabbing my ex-fiance, okay? Yeah, I hate her right now, but she’s done this shit before and always gets burned.”

“Done this before?” That sounds like a threat and Thomas isn’t too sure a sword cane is worth such an intimidating woman hounding him. But now he wants to know all of Olivia’s secrets. It’ll make extracting information from her all the easier. “Your ex-fiance?” 

“Yeah, Olivia. She tries to be nice to someone she works with or meets in real life and everything goes straight to Hell. A lot of backstabbers, people who take advantage of her, throw her to the curb when her usefulness is over. Take that for what you will.” Despite the anger, Thomas can see that Cordelia is genuinely concerned about Olivia’s well-being.

“I promise I’m not like other girls or guys. She’s one of the first people to actually show me some amount of kindness, you being the second. So it would be a dick move to throw all that away.” Does he really mean that? Yes and no, but this will make things appear normal, enough to get the crazy woman off his back. 

“I’ll hold you to it, Mr. Carter.” Cordelia turns to look at the door, shrugging her shoulders reluctantly. “You better get going. She hates waiting for people.”

Thomas simply nods, taking a brief moment to give the cute pug a pat on the head, before walking out the door. Cordelia sighs, taking the candy stick out of her mouth, idly staring down at the tablet’s flashing screens. The pug tilts his head in her direction, whimpering audibly. Resigned to her lack of control towards the situation, Cordelia taps one finger against the tablet screen, resuming her game anew. 

Shifting from the cold air-conditioned antique store to the musty hot summer evening isn’t exactly pleasant, but Thomas has a lot of other things on his mind now. All the information he’s gotten recently on Olivia and his place of employment, the newly acquired cane, and the curious residents of this town. For the sake of the situation, he’s mindful to not mention anything sensitive to Olivia, who’s standing next to her car door. 

“Sorry for the wait.” Don’t say anything to make the situation worse. That’s the first rule of thumb Thomas has to follow as he gets within a few feet of his suit-wearing companion. The second thing to avoid is using any of the new information he’s acquired against her. “Did you still want to go get a drink? It would be a chance to resume our conversation from before, the ones pertaining to death.” 

Olivia is visibly surprised at his modesty, managing a small nod, as she gestures to her car. For a second, her gaze spots the wooden cane in his hand, but she says nothing. “I would thoroughly enjoy that. Hop in and we’ll get on the road.” 

Not needing to be told twice, Thomas slips into the passenger’s side seat of the car, already enjoying the idea of being driven around in a clean vehicle. Olivia joins him soon after and the car takes off into the fading sunset to their future destination. 

“Are you certain we should be here? Not that I’m questioning your choices or anything, but I really shouldn’t be breaking your wallet over a simple evening out.” It’s a little late to be negotiating with Olivia on their current location, but a hint of guilt is creeping up in Thomas’ mind. He was expecting something cheap and quick, a grunge dive bar with greasy food, but somehow he should’ve expected Olivia to choose a more refined location.

Deep in the heart of downtown Kansas City, the two of them sit across from each other at one of the most prestigious Italian restaurants the city is known for. Aesthetically pleasing to the eye with the interior being modeled after rustic Italy, a live piano player in one corner and an expensive menu list leaves Thomas wondering just how he keeps getting into these situations. 

Not like he can escape it, nor that he even wants to at this point. They’ve already been seated, wine glasses filled to the brim, and a wide assortment of appetizers and main dishes leave for little space on the table. Normally not one to eat very much at all, seeing all the different meals being placed at adjacent tables only hastens his appetite this evening. Thankfully everything he’s sampled so far has been exceptional, from the crispy toasted ravioli to the flavorful pasta.

“It’s not my money to be spent. However, if you want a straight answer, the owners typically assign Tyrian with the task of taking new employees out for a meal. A sort of a ‘getting to know you’ experience. I simply told him you weren’t interested and took up the assignment myself privately.” Unlike before, Olivia’s mood has tapered off into a calm state, after having some time to distance herself from other real-life obligations. “Believe me, you don’t want to go out to some shady strip club with him.”

“I hate seeing him for even a few minutes a day, so I’d like to avoid his raunchy preferences both inside and outside of the workplace.” Thomas completely understands Olivia’s disdain for the man, simply based on his obsessions. Instead of pushing the topic further, he’s got a laundry list of questions for the mortician. “So what can you tell me about the mortuary science field?” 

“The question is not what I can tell, but rather what do you want to know. Ask me anything within reason, Thomas.” Within reason, he speculates, as any personal questions will certainly sour the conversation. Taking a sip of wine, he speaks up, confidence renewed. 

“How difficult is it to become a mortician? Have you seen anything really out of the ordinary on the job?” Olivia laughs at his enthusiasm, not in a condescending way, but clearly, it’s a topic of passion. Questions she asked her elders many years ago in the past are now being repeated back to her, by someone of equal age. 

“It took 4 years of college plus a state licensing exam. As for the strangest thing I’ve seen, nothing has really shaken me to my core.” She knows that answer won’t suffice Thomas’s curiosity, as she taps one finger on the table lightly. “I’ve read about different oddity cases, like corpses gasping for air after death. Weird stuff like that would make your stomach turn, and I feel like talking about it over dinner wouldn’t exactly be tactful.”

“I appreciate you keeping the squeamish topics off the table, no pun intended.” Despite his own experiences with corpses, Thomas never liked the ones that got deep into decomposition, preferring to incinerate in order to avoid those dirtier situations. No wonder Felicia couldn’t directly put him in as a mortician if there are more intricate steps involved. “So the whole rumor about becoming a mortician through an apprenticeship is completely false then?”

“Even family members have to take the necessary training. But shadowing isn’t a bad thing, as it’s a good indicator for someone to understand if they have the physical and mental fortitude to do the work.” Olivia doesn’t need to look up from her plate, feeling Thomas’ lost gaze. She continues to idly stir around her pasta dish with her fork. “You would be very good at it, although I think it goes against your prior schooling and goals. It’s a thankless job.”

“Maybe the dream to be a famous baker, voice actor or television star conflicted with another side of myself. It certainly didn’t help that my parents were constantly trying to control my life choices. What I did in the past was full of disapproving glances and offshoot comments.” Stupid Dad and Mom who wanted him to run the hotel or go be some bigshot serial killer in a hospital. “My Dad wanted me to be in the medical field, my Mother was obsessed with me running our historical family hotel.”

He manages to take a few bites of his meal, shifting between savoring the moment and resisting his increased agitation towards the past. Thankfully, Olivia immediately snaps him out of the anger-driven trance.

“Then why don’t you start anew if you’re not happy? The only person who gets to live your life is you. If you have a natural obsession with death and mortality, there’s certainly nothing wrong with that.” Olivia picks up her own glass of wine, stirring it lightly with one hand. Normal compliments would fall deaf on Thomas’ ears, but he does feel a sense of camaraderie in knowing someone else who’s obsessed with the end. 

“Maybe? I don’t know anymore. I thought I was doing good work at my previous job but it got complicated.” Yeah. That’s the best way to summarize a game show gone wrong. Just to ensure he doesn’t screw up the conversation further, Thomas focuses on his dinner. Olivia intentionally waits to talk again a few minutes later, as if sensing his desire to circumvent the topic.

“Does that have anything to do with your comment from before about curses?” Ouch. Thomas visibly winces, putting down his fork quickly. That’s enough of a sign for Olivia to continue forward with the topic. “Maybe it’s just my personal opinion, but curses are often mislabeled for physical and psychological health issues. You might be suffering from fatigue or an undiagnosed mental illness.”

“It could be any of those things.” He did have a therapist once and it did work for a while to try and hash out his complicated past issues and feelings. But a few months in, his therapist started to put the pieces together that his client was a serial killer and it was the end of that relationship. He met his demise at the bottom of a Chicago river, conveniently on a high night of crime, so no one ever questioned it. ”If I explained it, you wouldn’t laugh at me, right?”

“I forced you to talk about it, so no. Go on ahead.” She’s back to nursing her glass of wine, leaving Thomas to take charge. He takes a deep breath and starts talking to her, the faded piano music is the background only adding ambiance to his tale. 

“When I was 5, I got really sick. Originally my parents said it was Chicken Pox, but when I got older, the symptoms didn’t line up. I spent two weeks fluctuating between high fevers and low chills. I couldn't keep anything down. It felt like I was dying.” Thomas looks down at his hands, feeling a chill run along his skin, chalking it up to the air-conditioned restaurant. “At the apex of it all, my head kept hurting and I was having these out of body experiences where my sanity was slipping away.” 

“Your parents didn’t take you to a hospital?” So many thoughts are running through Olivia’s mind that she’s abandoned her alcoholic drink instead of relying on it. Funny how her first question is about his well-being, which gets a small chuckle out of Thomas. “You think it was some sort of supernatural sickness?”

“That’s my guess. My parents eventually did take me to a family member who’s a nurse. Her treatment involved me staying in a cold bath for a full 3 days, sitting quietly in the darkness. After that, I got better, but I haven’t been the same since.” His desire for blood, death, and murder all stemmed from that experience. The scenario and his current mental state don’t line up, but everything has to start somewhere. “It feels like my entire family bloodline is haunted by something.”

“I’m sorry you went through that.” Sorry? What a horrible way to respond and Olivia mentally chides herself for not being more considerate. Not even her knowledge of the medical field would be able to give Thomas some sort of answer as to why this happened. She needs time to figure this one out, but she senses that the clock is ticking. “So you’ve been contemplating death ever since that day? Trying to understand the paranormal events you’ve experienced?”

“Yeah, that’s the gist of it.” Kind of weird actually talking to someone about it, but Thomas is hopefully that Olivia has heard of a similar case. The way she hesitates to move the conversation forward doesn’t feel right, even if her apology is resolute.

“I’ve never heard of such a situation before. My college professors might know something about the illness, so I can reach out to a few contacts I know.” She shakes her head, frustrated at not knowing the answers immediately. But this would be something worth investing her time and efforts into, “Can you give me a few days to do some additional research?”

“...You’d really do that for me? But why?” This city is weird and everyone who lives here is truly beyond any comprehension. Olivia treating him to a nice dinner and actually listening to his problems? Is he in a coma and this is a dream? Pinching his wrist and feeling that pain reminds Thomas that he's alive and this is really happening.                                                                                                                      

“Because it’s been years since I’ve had the chance to actually research the unknown, to finally accomplish something of meaning.” Her armor breaks and she lets her own feelings slip out in the heat of the moment. “I’ve seen and experienced a similar situation before, so I can empathize with your situation.”

Thomas finds himself sitting up quickly, watching as Olivia’s gaze drifts to the white tablecloth. How in the Hell would she be able to understand that pain? The fury he has towards the world? 

And yet, despite clutching his fork tightly, resisting the urge to jump over the table at stab wildly at her throat, he feels oddly grateful. Someone cares about him, enough to share their own suffering as an example. His grip loosens on the silverware, the anger subsiding slowly.

“If it was the wrong topic to bring up, I’m sorry. I just want you to know that I’m here to help.” For her sake, it’s better to move onto something less emotional, lest Thomas start up with questions once more. He might not even be trustworthy, but at this moment, she feels okay sharing bits and pieces of herself. 

The two of them are silent, processing the conversations thus far, using dinner and drinks alike as ample distractions. It’s tempting for Thomas to ask more questions about Olivia’s mysterious past, but he’s seen how defensive she gets with less-than-favorable topics. Does it even matter if he knows that information? Maybe if he ever decides to kill her and wants to make the torture painful, then certainly. 

In this instance, he’s simply quiet, trying to figure out how to resume the conversation without dredging up something negative. It‘s when Olivia stops their server for another glass of wine that Thomas makes his move. The first mistake is asking for more alcohol as well, but his physical and mental excursions are eased every time he takes a sip. No wonder people get addicted to liquor so easily.

He waits a few extra minutes, letting both of them get settled into the routine of drinking once more, before finally throwing his second idea out on the table for Olivia’s consideration. 

“There’s one other question that’s been on my mind lately. Would you entertain the idea of letting me apprentice under you?” Her reaction, to say the least, worries Thomas. Seeing Olivia freeze up and place her wine glass back onto the table with a shaky hand is concerning. Why would such a request cause her to show genuine fear? The answer comes sooner than later.

“I can’t. Tyrian would murder me if I did any sort of under the table training, especially since he has no intention of paying for extra help. There’s also a risk of arrest or penalties for the illegal practicing of mortuary science without a license.” And yet, despite talking the idea down, Thomas can tell that Olivia is fatigued. She’s still entertaining the idea despite vocalizing concerns to him.

“Correct me if I’m out of line, but I’ve seen the amount of work you put in and I’m shocked you don’t have more seniority or autonomy when it comes to making decisions in the funeral home. Plus, aren’t you currently doing the work of two people? Tyrian won’t notice if I give you a hand here and there.” He suspects that Olivia is already working extra hours with little pay, given she’s the first person in and the last person out. Thomas persists, staring at Olivia from across the table, eager to argue the topic further.

“...It’s a situation I’ve brought upon myself and I won’t drag you into my personal affairs.” Her defenses are rising, but Thomas simply laughs and gives her a reassuring smile. It’s becoming increasingly difficult for her to get a read of Thomas’s intent and he plans on keeping things that way.

“I’ve been in enough bad positions to know how to avoid or escape them respectively. The way you’re rebuffing the help is also frustrating. You’re overworked, most likely underpaid, and in desperate need of assistance.” He leans back in his chair, fully expecting Olivia to either fly off the handle or to accept his joyful yet caring offer. Staring down at the table, her silence is a positive indicator of his words. “At least consider it payment for being willing to look into my problems.”

“You have a way of charming people through words in a dangerous way, Thomas.” Olivia shrugs her shoulders, openly admitting defeat to her fellow companion. “If you come in at 6 am every Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday, I can give you roughly two hours of time to do hands-on stuff. I’m always falling behind on cremation tasks, so we’ll start you there first. Chemical stuff with embalming is complicated.”

Ever straight and to the point, Thomas simply nods in agreement as Olivia just shakes her head, leaning forward on the table, glaring at him with her bleak grey eyes. “You do realize I can’t pay you for this extra work, right? And everything has to stay between us going forward.”  

“Completely.” For a split second, Thomas turns his attention to the wine glass at his side. The light red liquid moves subtly in the clear glass, reminding him of all the blood he’s spilled so far. “The only way to understand death is to get close to it, correct? Putting a price tag on that experience seems irrelevant.”

“Yes and no. If you’re not careful, you’ll forget to see all the wonderful things surrounding death as well, instead of just the principle.” Damnit. Thomas sighs, trying to feign any relevant emotions, but Olivia has turned the tables on him. Instead of letting him stew in those thoughts, she simply raised her glass of wine to him calmly. “Starting tomorrow, things are going to be different, in a good way. You’re getting a new way of looking at life.”

“...And in exchange, I suppose we should toast to the opposite, the reminder that death is ever-present. Memento Mori.” Grim as it is, Thomas knows that only Olivia can truly respect the stoic reminder. 

“You’ve got me there. To the life we’re living and respect towards our inevitable deaths.” She can’t help but manage a smile as he raises his glass to hers, clinking them together softly. 

At this moment, Thomas can forget the family legacy, the demands of society as a whole, and his bloodthirsty curse if only for a little while. Certainly, good food, alcohol, and the allure of dessert will help with that. However, having even one person to talk with has made the move to this small city all the more worth it. 

Felicia was right. Change, despite how scary it can seem, truly has a way of making amazing things happen.  

Chapter Text

Even with an extra-strong cup of coffee, combined with a long hot shower, Thomas is struggling to get up first thing Tuesday morning. The sun hasn’t even risen by the time he’s dressed for work and stumbling out the door with his belongings. It would’ve been nice to sleep off last night’s outing a little longer, especially after spending the remaining portion of the evening drinking wine and consuming copious amounts of carbohydrates and sugar. Thankfully, it’s nothing a quick trip through the local Starbucks drive-thru won’t fix for another mocha and breakfast while making the short drive into work. He's done worse sleep stints before during his game show tenure.

A few minutes before 6 am is when he pulls into the barren parking lot of the funeral home, seeing only Olivia’s car in the driveway. Staying true to her word, no doubt. The front door is unlocked and only the emergency lights are on inside, excluding the office. At least it won’t be hard to find his newfound death companion, as Thomas stifles a yawn, walking into the room with his coffee clutched tightly in one hand.

“Good morning, Thomas. Glad to see you’re awake after last night.” Olivia doesn’t look too much different in terms of alertness, a warm cup of hot chocolate on her desk as she shakes off the early morning drowsiness. She drank about the same amount of wine as him and probably has a headache to prove it.

While he’d normally be against such banter, it’s clear that she’s trying to lighten the mood and have a little fun. Thomas places his duffel bag on the desk, taking idle sips of his mocha, managing an honest smile. Two can play this game of wits.

“I’m still working on the waking up part, no thanks to a certain someone in this room.” Joking, of course. Thomas watches as Olivia nurses her own mug full of sugary liquid, before placing it down on a nearby drink coaster. “It was fun going out for pasta and wine, but let’s not do it on a Monday next time.”

“Agreed. I still have a small hangover this morning, so no more heavy weekday drinking here. Hopefully, these books will make up for my mistake? I figured you might want to read about other aspects of death while learning about it hands-on.” She reaches over for a stack of books on her desk, offering them to Thomas willingly. The titles alone catch his attention, texts about burial rites, different cultures, and their ways of handling death. It’s definitely topics he could spend days reading about.

Leaning himself up against the closest desk, Thomas puts his coffee down in order to accept her offering eagerly. He can tell that these books must have come from Olivia’s personal collection, based on their perfect and pristine condition.

“I’ll take your bribe this time.” He laughs a little while looking over the titles eagerly, unable to hide his excitement. Topics about death in other cultures, historical recordings about cremations: this is the kind of content he lives for. 

He places the books safely away into his duffel bag for later, knowing full well that he came in early this morning for something else. Olivia is good about reading his intentions, downing the last bit of her drink quickly as if prepared to leave. However, he still wants to verbally confirm that her promise is absolute.  “So, we’ve got two hours to ourselves. Shall we get started on the mortuary science lessons?”

“Of course. We’ll go down to the morgue and get your first body, then it’s off to the crematory.” Thomas merely nods his head, watching as Olivia stands, exiting the office behind her. The darkness of the hallway evaporates as she snaps on the lights. It’s rather nice getting in here before all the hustle and bustle starts up, a peaceful tranquility within the shadows of death. 

Entering the pristine and clean morgue, Thomas stands off to one side as Olivia rests her hands on a gurney that contains a large pine casket. She must have had this ready to go before he arrived this morning, as he reaches out with one hand to carefully example the casket’s craftsmanship. It’s nothing impressive upon a second glance and Thomas really only cares about what’s inside the box. 

Olivia, without realizing it, answers his question when she lifts open the lid of the coffin. Inside is an old man who looks to have died peacefully in his sleep. It’s the metal disk that lies on his chest that has Thomas confused, immediately asking questions. “What’s that?”

“An identification tag. Each cremated body will have one so we know that each family gets the correct ashes. It’ll survive the cremation process due to the specific metals used to make it.” She closes the casket once more, securely locking it. “It’s very important that it doesn’t get lost.”

“Fascinating. I suppose that’s a common fear people have when burning the remains of their loved ones.” His hand immediately withdraws from the coffin as Olivia nods to the entrance in which they came in through. Getting in front of her, Thomas slides the door open, wide enough for her to push the gurney into the hallway without any interference. “So, you’re not giving me any tough tests on day one are you? Like corpses that have pacemakers in them or…?”

“No, I wouldn’t expect you to know the intricate details right off the bat. Every corpse you’re going to cremate has already been prepared and is ready to go. Can’t have you blowing the place up so quickly, Thomas.” He follows Olivia down the hallway and into the secondary chambers of the funeral home, places his janitorial job restricts him from. “I’m glad that you’re being mindful of those minor details, however. It tells me you’ve done some homework on the subject.”

“I delve into a lot of random topics for personal reasons.” Thomas has to come up with trivia facts through some means, whether it be via the internet or reading books. “I’m having fun learning all these new things, face to face.”

The casket is wheeled into a large wide-open room, where small chimneys can be seen in the roof, the temperature immediately reminding Thomas of a burning building. Taking up most of the space is a large rectangular 3 door furnace, exuding heat even when not turned on, and a few metal tables are lined up against the far right wall. 

A long conveyor belt points into the cremation machine, and Thomas is shocked that Olivia is single-handedly sliding the casket onto it. He takes the opposite side of the box, helping her to stabilize it without saying a word. 

Olivia pauses for a moment to process the sudden act of help, having been doing this job for so long by herself that having a trainee is unusual. Too bad Thomas isn’t officially certified to do this type of work, but for now, she’ll make do. If he wants to learn, she’ll certainly teach him. 

“I’ll give you the quick rundown of the furnace controls first.” She walks over to a nearby control panel, where different temperatures and numbers are displayed. Thomas can’t help but look at this modern technology with a confused expression. “It takes about an hour for a body to burn into ashes and from there, any metal remnants are removed. Once done, the ashes are run through another machine that grinds them up into the grayish granulated powder you’ve often seen on TV drama shows. Into the urn it goes and that’s it.”

“What happens if the bones aren’t fully destroyed post-incineration?” Fascinating as it would be to see a skeleton on fire, he’s certain there’s another step involved. Olivia takes a large metal pole off the nearby wall and walks over to the opposite side of the cremation machine. Sliding down a metal panel with the pole, Thomas can see a large tray at the bottom of the furnace, certainly for collecting those fiery remains. 

“They’ll need to be broken down into smaller pieces. I hope you have no hard feelings towards crushing up human remains.” She hands him the pole, which to her surprise, is taken rather quickly. This is the part of cremation which always gets a gag reaction out of Dexter, but Thomas is handling it like a champion. Good. 

“Honestly, this is just part of nature.” It’s good to know he can destroy someone’s skull without a hint of regret or legal backlash. The pole feels reassuring in his hand as if the tool is beckoning him to create violence. This will be fun. “Kind of crazy thinking about how a human life gets compressed into mere pounds of powder at the end of it all.”

“It’s just another reminder of our fragile lives, that our physical forms will eventually expire one day.” There’s a reassuring equilibrium in Olivia’s tone, disconnection from the emotions of grief and loss, that Thomas can relate to. “The spirit is another thing entirely. Some say our souls persist even beyond death as ghosts, especially if the end was cruel and unfulfilling.” 

Thomas takes a deep breath, recalling every ghost created from his sadistic murder game show, before being consumed by the darkness. None of them haunt his life, thank god. “The torment exists long before death. Depression. Grief. Anger. Emotions that go against the norm are simply viewed as negative. Maybe death is a release from that pain?”

“One can only hope that’s the case.” The topic is visibly personal to both of them, but Thomas senses that Olivia is indifferent to the idea of ghosts wandering the mortal plane. There’s another thought on the killer’s mind, which he’s open to sharing.

“Olivia, if so many people suffer from negative emotions, do you ever think the living can find peace? You know, redemption from past mistakes?” Thomas’s eyes shift between the fiery furnace and his death-driven companion. Certainly, he’s done a lot of bad things, and suddenly realizing it, he’s reflecting on his own mortal soul. “Or are bad people just doomed to be bad forever?” 

“I’ve always liked the Hindu ideology when it comes to action. Karma, the concept that our actions, good or bad, determine if we receive good or bad things in life.” Olivia has a hand on her tie knot, pulling it ever closer to the base of her throat. The gesture is troubling to Thomas, mentally filing it away as a nervous tick. “But karma has faults, it doesn't consider outside influences, judging purely on our independent actions, which doesn’t tell a full story.” 

“Other factors…” Thomas signs, wondering just what kind of person he would’ve been if Dad stuck around or Mom was more supportive. Could he have avoided the murderous family fate? Or was that etched into his bones from the start? 

“Bad people might be forced to do sinful things against their will. Equally, good people could do things with selfish ambitions. The biggest mistake anyone can make is to become completely narcissistic.” Olivia shakes her head, looking over at Thomas with concern, either towards him or herself. “If you can find one person to care about beyond yourself, redemption is possible. That’s what I believe.”

“Those words...My Meemaw said them once, the part about finding someone to care about. I honestly didn’t take them seriously at that time, but now...I’m starting to get why.” Thomas turns his eyes from the fire, meeting Olvia’s gray gaze easily. There’s an equal amount of sadness between them, each for their own personal reasons.  “Human connections are a reminder that we exist, our self-worth.”

“Your Grandmother sounds like a woman who was intelligent beyond her years.” Olivia nods, turning herself towards the door. The gesture indicates escape, but Thomas can’t tell why she’s ready to move forward. “I don’t know what you’ve been through and what I say right now might not mean anything, but…”

“What…?” Thomas is struggling to figure out what her words mean and what he should say next. It’s her smile that eases his troubled mind, as she stands against the door frame, looking back at him. 

“I’m glad you’re here, Thomas. Your existence matters to me, and whatever personal struggles you’re trying to fight off, just know you’re not alone.” She pulls back a strand of her hair behind her ear calmly.  “If you ever want to talk about the family, or yourself, you know where to find me.”

Thomas just stares at her blankly, completely dumbfounded by her continuous support, rubbing his forehead in thought. The last time anyone ever gave him a reassuring vote of confidence was Grandma, so many years ago. Olivia reminds him of her, just 30 years younger. 

“...Thank you.” The words are a visible shock to the mortician, who can barely recall any moment where Thomas has thanked her directly. Sure, he’s shown surprise or a silent amount of gratitude, but never verbally confirmed it. 

“Of course. I’ll come to check up on you in an hour. Until then, keep up the good work.” After getting in the last word, she walks out of the room confidently.

And at that moment, Thomas is left alone with the silent machine, the mystery surrounding his mortician companion plaguing him for now. What kind of darkness is she fighting off? And can he really make amends for the past?

Walking back over to the furnace, it’s the sudden warmth of the flame which ignites his own personal memories. All the times he set buildings ablaze to hide corpses: how many of those victims were ever found? Did any of them receive eternal rest? Does it matter at the end of the day? Most of them were probably miserable on the inside, a reflection of his own persona. Too many questions to contemplate and not enough answers.

It’ll plague his mind for now, but Dad’s haunting voice is slowly creeping out of his thoughts, replaced by Olivia’s reassuring words.

“Day one of the investigation begins…” Silas murmurs to himself as he parks his unsuspecting rental car as far away from the funeral home as he can, right at 8 am. Based on Dexter’s information, most of the employees arrive around an hour later, but he’s surprised to see the haunting Plymouth Fury already in the parking lot. Maybe he just missed the host by a few minutes, which wouldn’t be new news.

In the cupholder of the car is a warm cup of coffee, along with a bag full of cheap McDonald's breakfast sandwiches. There’s no time to savor the continental breakfast of his hotel, not when the Trivia Murder Party Killer is on the loose. The moment is reminiscent of his old stakeout sessions years ago, watching to catch an illegal teen running red lights or to intercept a shady drug deal. Simpler times, for certain.

Picking up a stack of papers from the dashboard, he looks over the heavily annotated copy of Thomas’ resume. Persistent phone calls have provided nothing of value, as most of the managers listed on the resume have either given vague answers to his questions. Statements like ‘He worked with us’ to ‘An excellent employee’. Nothing concrete, just small one-line dribbles that any 5 year old would say please their mother.

Behind the resume are the most recent pictures from the killer’s show in Saint Louis, a list of all the victims who had to be identified by dental records. There are no consistent patterns, each ‘contestant’ ranges in gender and age, none younger than 21 or older than 65. Some have criminal backgrounds and others have never gotten a speeding ticket before. The only thing tying them together is being murdered, back to back.

Silas drops the paperwork back onto the dashboard upon seeing Dexter park his car, near the front of the building, looking around nervously as he exits. Good to see that his newfound partner isn’t bailing out from the task at hand, as the passenger side door opens, Dexter slipping into the car carefully. 

“Sheriff Calhoun. Sorry if I kept you waiting.” Dexter nods his head a little, but Silas merely shrugs his shoulders. There wasn’t a set time to meet up, but he’s glad that no one else has seen them meet up yet.

“You’re fine, Dexter. The day’s just getting started, although I’m really confused as to why Mr. Carter showed up early. His car was in the parking lot when I arrived.” Silas frowns, reaching for his coffee, being mindful to not spill the hot liquid. He points at the two vehicles in the lot. “I’m assuming the other car belongs to your coworker?”

“Yes, the Eclipse belongs to Olivia, our mortician, who typically does get in much earlier than the rest. I don’t know why Thomas got here first though. Do you want me to ask him later?” Even though he’s not supposed to interrogate the man, Dexter wants to gather whatever relevant information he can. 

“No, it’s irrelevant right now. The main thing we need to do is to keep an eye on him at all times, you’re the inside job and I’ll be vigilant observing him outside. We’ll put the pressure on him to perform perfectly in society just by acting normal.” Killers can’t reform themselves, especially not ones who’ve committed so many crimes within years. 

“Hey, Silas...Can I ask you something else pertaining to the investigation? How long have you been chasing the Trivia Murder Party killer?” Is he even allowed to touch the paperwork Silas has put together? Instead of trying, Dexter sits there with his hands in his lap. “What’s your personal vendetta with the guy?” 

The line of questioning was bound to happen, and Silas should know better than to share that data with Dexter. Instead of shying away from the question, he reaches into the backseat of the car for a brown-colored folder. It looks older than the other files the sheriff keeps on hand, so Dexter is careful when opening it. The first page causes him to reel backward in shock. 

“Corydon, Indiana? That’s the town which burned to the ground 2 years ago. I read about this in a college course one semester. The police wrote it off as a large arson, but a lot of underground rumors say it was something else.” Dexter looks over the pages, focusing intently on the photographs of charred houses, trying to find any hidden clues. 

“The media and the police force kept the details obscured from the public for a lot of good reasons. When the initial sweep of the town occurred, they found many adults had committed suicide or murdered other people. Only the children under 17 were spared.” Silas frowns, reaching for his cup of coffee. “I was the sheriff of that town.” 

Dexter’s attention is drawn to a photo in the file, a slightly younger version of Silas, standing next to a red-haired woman and a gruff-looking police officer wearing a puffy coat. The three of them look content, and Dexter notes that Silas looks less exhausted than his present-day self. “My teacher told me that the sheriff died protecting the people of the town.” 

“It was a lie to keep me safe from the Trivia Murder Party Killer. You see, Dexter, he chose my home as a testing ground for his psychotic little show, and that's why everyone died.” The picture dredges up bad memories, knowing he failed to protect anyone that night. “I was hospitalized for a few weeks due to the fire and after that, I went rogue, trying to find a way to capture him.” 

“Something doesn’t add up though. How could the killer have committed so many murders in one fell swoop? Your evidence here even suggests that people were hurting each other, the entire fire department and police force are prime examples of that.” Dexter closes the document, keeping it in his lap, waiting intently for an answer. 

“I don’t have an answer to that question, but I know the killer was responsible for all the murders. His presence was something unworldly, there was this weird black fog which surrounded the town, keeping anyone from leaving.” Silas shakes his head, not ready to admit defeat just yet, but Dexter’s opinions are a breath of fresh air. For starters, his words are actually being listened to and not disregarded as a madman’s ravings. “That’s enough reminiscing about the past though, you start work at 8:30 am, correct? Get in there and show them your stuff.”

“Will do. And Silas, thank you for sharing your story with me, it makes me understand this role a little better. I’ll do my best, for the fallen friends you’ve lost along the way.” Opening the door to head back outside, Dexter is already making good strides towards the building, leaving Silas to watch from afar. He’ll get out of the car once everyone arrives in order to patrol the facility, but for now, he takes a look at the discarded brown folder on the nearby seat. 

Pulling out the photograph, he closes his eyes, imagining those long lost days of camaraderie and love alike.

The environment of the funeral home feels very unfamiliar to Dexter, almost as if he’s stepped into a parallel world. He was expecting Olivia to be harsher on him today, given his absent-minded nature towards the funeral processes, but instead, her demeanor is stoic yet understanding. Certainly, she’s not one to show him emotions, but instead of belittling him, she’s finding alternative tasks for him to do. Record-keeping and the like. Something less stressful.

It’s the behavior of Thomas that sets all of Dexter’s alarms off: gone is the agitated man who mops the floors. Instead, there’s an unusual pep in his step, especially for someone who’s been in since early this morning. In fact, Dexter’s able to walk past Thomas a few times without looking suspicious, but in exchange, nothing malicious stands out about the black-haired man. No new information to pass along to Silas.

“What am I supposed to do?” Dexter sighs, talking out loud to himself, as he steps into the funeral home office at lunchtime. Taking a seat at his desk, he’s ready to have a snack and process what’s going on with the case. Silas’s attitude implied that the Trivia Murder Party Killer wouldn’t be able to blend in, but if that’s the case, Thomas is doing better than before. No one seems to be batting an eye at him. 

The office space is quiet, a good place to collect his thoughts, as Olivia has already left for her own lunch, leaving Dexter alone. However, the silence only lasts for a few minutes, as Amber pops her head into the doorway. She doesn’t wait for a greeting either, walking over to her own desk space, wearing her usual dull toned outfit of blacks and whites, with a hint of yellow in her scarf.

“Hey Dexter, looks like you’ve been staying busy today!” Amber’s cheerful voice never grinds on his nerves, despite being lost in thought. The next thing to draw Dexter’s attention is the scent of french fries and barbeque, his eyes looking at the bags Amber is holding. “I got you lunch, and I remembered to order the vegan mushroom sandwich you love so much!”

“Ah...t-thank you, Amber! Today has been weird, to say the least.” Dexter stands up, stretching his arms, feeling tenser than usual. The brown paper bag is offered to him by Amber with a smile, which he takes politely. “Can I ask you a question?” 

“Sure! But make it quick, cause I need to walk down to Tyrian’s office and give him his lunch.” A task she dreads, but Dexter is able to adapt to the situation, walking out of the office with her, side by side. “So, what’s on your mind?” 

“Have you noticed anything off about everyone today? Specifically with Thomas and Olivia?” Dexter holds the bag of food carefully with his one hand, watching Amber for any outward cues. “Both of them seem like they’re in a good mood?”

“Well, I can’t vouch for Olivia, because our interactions are limited and specifically work-related. However, I did want to ask her a few questions about the work credit card, but that’s nothing unusual.” Amber shrugs her shoulders, not finding the line of questioning to be weird at all. In fact, it’s good that Dexter wants to talk about his social anxieties. “As for Thomas, he seems like his usual self, working hard like always.” 

“Maybe I’m just looking too deeply into things then…” Dexter frowns, but Amber is quick to wrap her arm around him reassuringly. He can’t stay mad when she’s being the optimistic one. “I really wish I could do more…”

As Amber is about to speak up, there’s a noticeable conversation happening at the other end of the hall. Tyrian’s boisterous voice echoes against the walls, the suit-wearing man has Thomas stopped in his tracks.

“Hey hey, it’s the man of the hour! Thomas Carter! How are you doing today?” Tyrian happily greets his quiet ‘coworker’, who’s resorted to leaning on his broom. Maybe if he displays some interest in working, then his red-haired boss will leave him alone.

“Tyrian...I-Uh...wasn’t expecting to see you here right now.” Thomas rubs the back of his neck nervously, trying to ignore Tyrian’s wide smile. “I’m doing good, just staying busy…”

“Looks like I’d better go bail him out.” Amber whispers to Dexter, then confidently steps forward to intervene in the two-man conversation. What surprises her is that Dexter is only a few feet behind, eagerly watching the interaction unfold. Odd. He’d normally be running for the hills as well.

“Thomas! Hey there! I wanted to say thank you for your hard work last week! You keep bringing in donuts for everyone, which is a welcome treat. Small gestures like that really add up.” Amber nods her head politely, a surprise given her initial meeting with Thomas was very dismissive. Maybe it was a bad day? Regardless, he feigns a smile back to her. 

“I’m glad I could be of some assistance to everyone.” He points to her bag next, catching a whiff of her lunch only increasing his desire to get away for a quick bite to eat. Or to avoid these awkward conversations. “Sorry if I stopped you two from your lunch break. I can get going if you’d like?”

“Actually, now that the gang’s all here, I’ve got a really neat improv show coming up on Saturday and it would be really swell if you all come to hang out in Westport for a bit!” Tyrian cuts Amber off as Thomas tries hiding his disdain, but it’s so painful when two of his ‘coworkers’ are watching. In fact, Amber looks equally miserable at those words, indicative that she’s already been convinced to go or will be in due time. 

“Saturday? I might actually have plans that day.” For a second, Thomas thinks he’s off the hook, but suddenly Dexter steps up to Amber, his eyes go immediately to the killer. If he’s going to act normal at work, then maybe the mask will come off in a normal, social setting. Dexter’s confidence blooms at that moment, immediately turning his stare to Tyrian.

‘I think we should all go together! Be supportive of Tyrian’s hobbies and ambitions!” Dexter isn’t even sure if the words coming out of his mouth sound normal, but the moment was right for it. Even if he has to drag himself into an unfavorable situation, Thomas will go down with him. No hiding away from the public here. 

“Spoken like a true champion! Alright then! It’s an official work outing and I’m demanding the three of you show up. Or otherwise, we’ll have problems...Any objections?” Tyrian is watching like a hawk, waiting for someone to oppose him. He knows no one will, but it’s fun to exercise his power of authority over others.

“None here.” Dexter doesn’t want anything to do with this, even if Tyrian treats him kindly, but seeing Thomas trying to squirm out of the chat is almost too good to be true. The stars are aligning, and Silas would be praising him for taking the initiative.

“...Sure thing. It’ll be a blast.” Amber is shaking her head in disapproval and Thomas is simply shifting his gaze between three coworkers, unable to speak. Before he gets a chance to rebuke the offer, Tyrian is already giving him a hearty slap on the back, while pulling Amber close with his other free arm.  

Tyrian’s grip and presence is suffocating, leaving Thomas stumbling with his words. It’s one thing if he could’ve negotiated out of this gathering, but another thing when he spots Dexter staring at him with an odd smile on his face. Was this intentional? 

“Y-yeah...guess I’m on board as well.” Ugh. Those words taste like poison in Thomas’s mouth, but the chance to retreat has long passed.

“Great! I’ll text you all the time for Saturday’s improv show!” The moment ends just as quickly as it started, with Tyrian taking command of the situation. “Alright, glad we could all agree on this! But for now, I want lunch! Amber, you joining me in my office?”

“Yeah...I’ll be right behind you.” Her eyes quickly shift to Dexter, shocked at his sudden eagerness to play around with Tyrian’s stunts. “What were you thinking? You know his shows are disgusting and absolutely miserable.”

“Oh? Maybe this one will be different?” Dexter has a grin on his face, leaving Amber absolutely puzzled. It’s a rare surge of confidence that she’s not used to seeing in her younger ‘brother’. “It’s bound to be a lot of fun.” 

“....What?” Amber grabs the bag in her hand tightly as she watches Dexter walk away as if she doesn't even recognize the college student. She then turns to face Thomas, who looks like he’s about to throw up. “Are you okay?” 

“I’ll be fine. I just need to get a breath of fresh air after all that craziness.” Some personal distance will help with controlling his anger, as he simply gives Amber a light wave, before heading towards the supply closet. 

Flinging open the door, he stares at the tools, plotting just which one would be good at killing Tyrian and Dexter equally. This entire social situation leaves Thomas reaching for a nearby rag and throwing it on the ground, stepping on it angrily. What the actual fuck just happened and how does he fix the situation?

“I can’t believe Tyrian is making me go to his stupid improv show on my day off!” It’s taken a week for Thomas’ anger to finally boil over, sitting in the funeral home office late Friday evening while Olivia simply types away at her computer. Only the two of them stayed around after work, everyone else has already escaped for the day. 

To be fair, he should’ve left as well, but upon seeing Olivia stay behind to do closing paperwork, the temptation to talk with her grew. He’s been contemplating murdering something this week, however, her voice and presence are quashing those sinful thoughts. 

Instead of giving him her undivided attention, she instead nods her head a little in agreement, still keeping her eyes on the blue-toned screen. Normally this kind of gesture would annoy him, but sitting in the semi-dark office on a cozy Friday summer evening, watching Olivia work while listening to Japanese lo-fi hip-hop music is oddly relaxing.

“I really don’t have a good solution for your conundrum, Thomas. Honestly, I would just get the one-time outing over with, as Tyrian won’t pester you nearly as much afterward.” She stops typing and spins her chair to face him, arms crossed over her chest. “If he’s dragging you down to the comedy club near Westport, however, at least you can hop over to the adjacent Green Room bar for a drink. I’d recommend trying their giant slices of chocolate cake and milkshakes.” 

“The chocolate part sounds amazing if it didn’t include interacting with our egotistical boss.” Slumping back into his chair, Thomas mutters something under his breath. “Stupid Dexter...Why did he have to invite me to come along?” 

The statement gets a raised eyebrow out of Olivia, resting one leg over her knee. “Dexter is going too? That seems uncharacteristic of him. Tyrian has never asked him out before for personal reasons, probably because he’s not a woman.”

“Yeah, when you slipped out for lunch on Monday, Tyrian caught me in the hall and started up a conversation. Right as I was about to leave, Dexter jumped in and got me tied into a night of comedic affairs.” He looks over at Olivia, curious if it’s even worth asking her to come along, to give him some reason to not be horribly agitated at the situation. “Maybe I can just coast through the night by acting interested and then put myself into a sugar-induced coma afterward.” 

“Well, there’s nothing stopping you from following those steps in reverse either. Anyways, much as this conversation has been interesting, I’m going to politely kick you out of my office now so I can go home for the evening.” Olivia stands up, leaning over her desk to turn off the computer. Without missing a beat, Thomas reaches over and grabs her messenger bag from the floor, offering it politely by the handle.

“So what’s your gameplan for the weekend, Olivia?” She takes the bag from him and slings it over her shoulder, keeping her car keys in one hand as well. His question is simple enough, as she points to the office doorway, forcing her companion out and into the darkened halls. The conversation can resume once she’s locked up for the evening. “Can I pay you to accompany me to this Saturday outing?”

“Maybe if you offer me a million dollars. Unfortunately, I’ve already scheduled a meeting with some old colleagues about your curse situation, hoping to get some answers. Rest assured, I’ll be certain to share my findings with you immediately.” She catches sight of Thomas staring at her, almost surprised at her dedication to their prior conversation. “So, care to entertain my curiosity for a bit? What did you end up doing with that cane?”

“...I still can’t believe you’re looking into that for me, but I appreciate it.” The feeling of having a companion to discuss personal problems with is rather odd to Thomas, but he quickly shifts away from the topic. Discussing the curse isn’t pleasant right now, especially with his anger at an all-time high. “Ah! The sword! Well, I’ve been taking up fencing again now that I have some spare time.” 

“You do have the form for the sport, but a sword and a standard epee are vastly different.” Thomas laughs at her comment, shrugging his shoulder slightly. She’s got him there, but it’s easy to lead the conversation in another direction. 

“If I’m being honest, I just miss being able to hold a bladed weapon in my hand after so long. Many years ago, my cousin Aloysius invited me to apprentice under him. He was a magician by trade, so swords were commonly used in all sorts of magic tricks. We spent a lot of time in Nevada together.” Thomas sighs a bit, recalling all the beautiful murders they conducted in Las Vegas and on international cruise ships. Those were good times indeed. “It was a lot of fun learning about sleight-of-hand tricks and captivating an awaiting audience.”

“The last time I was in Las Vegas was with Cordelia 7 years ago. She could honestly quit her day job and be a professional gambler if she wanted to. That woman is a vicious card shark.” The mention of Olivia’s ex actually catches Thomas off guard, originally suspecting that topic to be taboo. “Spending time with a magician cousin sounds like a wildly fun adventure though.”

“...Speaking of Cordelia, she mentioned that you’re her ex-fiance that day in the antique store. I think she still has romantic feelings for you, but I’m not an expert on love.” Olivia stops walking, taking a moment to process Thomas’s statement. Over the past week, she’s gotten more comfortable around him, but that specific topic still hurts like hell. And Thomas picks up on that instantly. “You opened the door for me to come talk about my family baggage. The offer should go both ways, Olivia.” 

“I’m going to need a stiff drink if you want to start asking me questions about my former love life. Or anything else regarding my time outside of this job.” Despite being against the idea, Thomas isn’t getting the abrasive attitude from her, as Olivia resumes walking forward. Certainly getting out for a few hours will help his stress levels, and getting to have a nice chat is a win-win scenario.

“How about we go grab dinner and chat at the same time? I’ll tell you about my crazy adventures with Aloysius, and in exchange, you tell me about your past relationship with Cordelia.” Thomas stops at the front door of the funeral home, the two of them left standing in the dark foyer. “I’ll even drive so you can have an alcoholic drink or two.” 

“...Leaving the restaurant choice to me?” Thomas nods his head, as Olivia visibly thinks about his offer carefully. Certainly, she is trying to be helpful in his situation, but can she really afford to reveal her own dark past? Would he judge her harshly, just like all the others? There’s only one way to find out.

“Okay, I’ll take you up on the offer. There’s a nice Southern-themed restaurant about 15 minutes out from the office called Strouds. I think you’d like it, mainly because the chicken noodle soup is the best in town.” She gestures for him to open the door, which Thomas is eager to do. After they’ve both stepped out, the lights are turned off and he locks the doors behind them.

“Still playing on my taste preferences? What if I told you I wanted something sweet?” Thomas is simply enjoying the banter, along with getting Olivia’s insight on Kansas City locations. She laughs at his attempt to challenge her knowledge, smirking confidently. 

“Then next week I’ll take you out to Lawrence for their retro cereal-theme restaurant, where you can get all the nostalgic sugary goodness your heart ever desired.” She stops at the passenger side door of Thomas’s attractive car, running her hand along the paint job carefully. This vehicle is appealing up close, but even more exciting now that she gets to ride in it. 

“I’ve moved a lot in life and this is the first time I’ve actually started enjoying the town where I live. Put me down for an evening at the cereal bar…” He looks over at her from across the tan leather top of the car, being greeted by her warm smile. It’s taken years to find someone who’s on the same wavelength as his personality, a person who doesn’t laugh at his childish, effeminate ways. “And, if you don’t mind, I want to have more adventures like this in the future.” 

“...I’d like that as well, Thomas.” She’s already opening the door to the car, slipping in beside him as the engine roars to life. Without thinking, he pushes a button on the dashboard, folding back the hooded top in order to enjoy the humid weather.

These are the moments that define life, as Thomas takes the car straight from park to drive, speeding out of the parking lot like a 16-year-old with their first license. The warm summer breeze, with its scent of flowers, the rush of wind through his long black hair. His companion who’s savoring every moment happily while Van Halen’s ‘Dreams’ pumps out of the car speakers.

He wants tonight to last forever because in the back of Thomas’s mind, tomorrow is going to be hell.  Without knowing it, after his car has left the funeral home behind, another set of lights turn on, a hidden vehicle watching from the road. And in the darkness, Silas watches them speed off, before slowing putting his vehicle into drive, following them down the inky abyssal road.

Chapter Text

It’s not her finest moment, but Olivia can’t control time or the effects it has on other people. Inviting Thomas out was one thing, but she’s never been a fan of making the invited company stand by and wait because she couldn’t schedule an appointment or dinner reservation in advance. The least she can do is buy him a drink, apologize profusely, and hope things work out in the end. 

She steps out of the old country-style restaurant, finding her company relaxing on a nearby bench, looking out at a large fountain surrounded by a weeping willow tree. A few other patrons are meandering about, but it’s not busy enough to feel congested. Carrying two bottles of beer in one hand, she stops at the bench to greet the black-haired man.

“It’s going to be about 30 minutes before we get seated. I’m sorry for not thinking to call ahead in advance, as it can be a bit of a crapshoot on Friday nights.” It’s her fault for dropping the ball, but instead of being upset, Thomas simply shrugs his shoulders, closing the paper menu he was reading. 

“Things happen and I’m more than happy to wait, especially for that appealing chicken noodle soup.” Sure, any sort of delay is unfavorable, but the outdoor waiting area is welcoming and his company has brought him a drink to help pass the time. The pleasant summer breeze makes for a not too stifling evening as well, making it easy to stay outdoors.

“Thanks for not getting upset, Thomas.” She leans down and offers him a clear bottle with a vibrant blue label, causing Thomas’s eyes to go wide. He takes the offered beer and looks at it carefully, wondering if it's just his imagination.

“They didn’t have La Croix, but I was shocked that they still serve Zima. Guess some 90’s beers make a revival now and then.” Olivia shrugs her shoulders, watching as Thomas takes a drink from the bottle, grinning from ear to ear. 

“I am over the moon right now.” Another small sip confirms it, the taste of citrus and mixed fruits, with a light boozy underscore running along his tongue, the perfect summer beer for his tastes. “The bartender didn’t give you the runaround for ordering it? Since it’s a rather girly beer and all.”

“Nope. He probably thought it was for me, but this is my choice for the evening.” Thomas takes a glance at the brownish-colored bottle she’s holding, notating the high IPA count, curiously wondering how someone with her frame can drink such a heavy, stout beer. “We’ve got some time to kill so let’s go walk around the property. Maybe we’ll catch a few geese out on the lake.” 

“Sounds like a great plan.” Thomas stands up, folding the cream and green colored paper menu up into his pocket, walking over to Olivia with renewed vigor. She’s happy to have his company as they walk along the brick pathways, down a set of wooden stairs towards a larger set of buildings where outdoor parties are held.

In the process of heading down the stairs, Thomas pauses and looks over his shoulder, an odd feeling of being watched creeps over him. But to his surprise, nothing seems out of place, just a few patrons waiting around for their turn to get inside. Weird. There’s nothing to be afraid of in the dark, especially since he’s fond of it, so Thomas simply follows at Olivia’s side. 

Sticking his face deep into one of the restaurant’s menu, Silas takes a moment to breathe upon seeing Thomas turn his gaze away, realizing that the man he’s spying on didn’t see him. It was difficult keeping on his tail during the drive here, and the fact that Thomas is actively out in the open means Silas is hoping for the killer to make a mistake. Maybe he’s aiming to kill this woman he works with? That’s the sheriff’s prerogative, given how friendly Thomas acts around her. 

He waits a minute to stand up from his seat, following them down the dimly-lit brick stairs, past the closed guest building, being sure to stay hidden and out of sight. Seeing the expansive backyard gets a frown from the sheriff, as he ducks into a nearby set of bushes, notating the landscape carefully. There’s nowhere for him to hide safely, so getting within earshot of their conversation will be impossible. 

He waits a few minutes to see if Thomas makes a move and is oddly disturbed by what he’s seeing, both of them smiling and in good spirits. Suddenly his mind shifts away from the idea that Thomas will actually kill tonight, especially in a public place.

“She’s an accomplice…?” Silas mutters to himself, taking out his phone and turning the flash off, snapping a few pictures when able. The darkness prevents him from getting any detailed images, but he can see their facial expressions and forms. Dexter will know more about the nameless woman, but Silas understands how important physical proof is to an argument.

Slipping out of the bushes, he walks back to the restaurant entrance, opening the white cottage door for an older couple as they leave. He’s greeted by the rustic interior made of dark oak wood, an unused fireplace, and a large antique chair. To his left is a pathway leading to the bar and to the right is a hallway branching into the main dining space. 

“Welcome! How many people are in your group tonight?” The receptionist smiles, as Silas looks over at her podium, notating the number of people waiting to get in. Too many groups of two, but he has a rough estimate on when they arrived, thus names aren’t needed. He points to the list, giving the polite lady a warm smile while reaching into his pocket. 

“I’m actually here to surprise my brother since today’s his birthday. He’s here with a woman wearing a suit.” Holding his wallet tightly, he’s prepared for some pushback, but the receptionist reaches for the clipboard, examining each last name carefully. 

“Ah, I know which party you’re referring to! The last name is Moore, but they only have two listed for seating…” Silas cuts her off before any objections can occur. 

“That’s quite alright! I’m here to bring him a gift, so I don’t want to interrupt their scheduled dinner. However, I would like it if I could get a table nearby, so I can drop the surprise at the end of their meal.” He pulls out a few 50 dollar bills, folding them up, before placing them on the podium. “Do you think that can be arranged?” 

The blond-haired woman quickly covers the money with her clipboard, making a note near Olivia’s last name with her pen, looking up at the sheriff. “What’s your name? I’ll make the seating arrangement happen.” 

Silas smirks, placing one hand on his hip confidently, but not enough to give his real name. “Dirk Gently.” 

The receptionist gives him a raised eyebrow, writes down his name, and then offers to guide him to the bar. “I appreciate your offering, Mr. Gently. I’ll come back and get you when it’s time.”  

There’s something reassuring about the outdoors to Thomas, seeing the faded moon hanging high in the night sky, no additional company within sight. No pressure to perform perfectly, especially when his company simply wants to talk normally.

Stepping onto the worn grassy paths and behind the Southern-style restaurant is a giant lake, different cedar trees keeping the area concealed except for the singular entrance. A family of geese waddle around in the pale moonlight, their feathers matted down smoothly upon hitting the still waters. Thankfully none seem eager to approach and torment the two humans. 

“It’s so peaceful out here, barring our feathered friends stay on their side of the lake.” Thomas jokes out loud, walking closer to the water’s edge, watching the summer breeze create subtle waves on the bank. “They can be fierce little devils, always stealing stuff and honking at people aggressively.”

“I don’t think we’ll anger these geese overlords unless we were out here during the spring when they’re nesting,” Olivia smirks, pointing to the fluffy baby goslings swimming close behind their protective mother. The sight is so adorable that both of them pause to appreciate the silent lake. That is until Olivia feels compelled to speak up quietly. “So, care to share some of those Las Vegas stories with me? Your cousin Aloysius sounds like a fun guy to be around.” 

“He was my second favorite family relative, next to my Grandma, always a bit of a playboy and a man who could do no wrong.” Thomas remembers all the days spent watching Aloysius rub elbows with Vegas’s finest, never once revealing that his magic came from his family bloodline. Many nights were spent waiting in dark corners of the Strip for him to find the perfect ‘volunteer’ for a sadistic, homebrewed magic act. 

“The best way to learn magic is from another magician, I take it.” It’s not every day that she gets to hear about famous relatives, making Olivia realize that Thomas’s family tree is rather fascinating. “So did you visit him quite often?”  

“Well...everything kinda started after I dropped out of college due to health reasons.” Thomas tips his Zima bottle to the lake, a silent toast to his faraway cousin. “I wasn’t ready to go home and face my mother’s wrath, so I asked Aloysious if he would let me live with him in Vegas. Thankfully, he agreed.” 

Was? That word catches Olivia’s attention, but she has no reason to pry deeper. Instead, all this talk about the City of Sin is fascinating to her. “Having family support is always reassuring, especially when parents are involved. Las Vegas is pretty noisy at night though, with all the lights and tourists…How’d you cope with that?”

“My cousin has a nice ranch house off the Strip, so I didn’t have to put up with the constant bombardment to my senses. But honestly, I got used to it after a while, all the glitz and glamor...It was welcoming on a level I couldn’t describe.” He does his best though, but given Olivia has some history of visiting Vegas, she’s able to contribute to the conversation nicely.

“Vegas is a city that breaks the usual standards by which society is built on, where sin is apparent in every corner, but it’s mostly controlled.” She takes a sip of her beer, relating the taste to her latest memories of the desert. “It’s the weirdest place I’ve ever visited, let alone I can only imagine what living there was like.”

“Speaking of that trip, you gonna share your wild romp through Nevada? Didn’t you say Cordelia dragged you out there?” There’s a moment in the conversation where Olivia considers what will happen if she punches Thomas’ shoulder for bringing that topic up, but instead, she just frowns disapprovingly at him.

“Look at you, redirecting the question so skillfully. But yes, we did visit in 2011 as a 7-day vacation. That’s about as much Vegas as I can comprehend since the whole experience was intense.” Even thinking about it forces Olivia to recall the cigarette smoke, ringing slot machine bells, and the constant advertisements for strip clubs. “I’m pretty sure I picked up 10 pounds on that whole trip because we were eating out at 5-star restaurants every day and the alcohol wouldn’t stop flowing.”

“Yeah, living there I saw so many tourists go beyond their limits and get drunk on the Strip, flint with the waitresses, or pass out at the all-you-can-eat buffets.” Some of it was stomach-turning, but many times it leads to wonderful contestants that he and Aloysious could murder without care. In fact, the 7 deadly sins became so prevalent that his second batch of dolls was lovingly named after them. “It can be hard for people to block it out when the entire city tempts you into sinful desires. Seems like you got back in one piece though.”

“Through an act of God, perhaps.” She didn’t come back with less money than her projected budget, which is a plus. “So did you find what you were looking for in Vegas? If college didn’t work out, then I imagine you were exploring different career choices.”

“Well, sorta...I kinda wanted to be famous and have my own variety show, so I could be the center of attention.” There. He said it. Thomas is prepared for her laughter, but instead, Olivia just shrugs her shoulders, not entirely shocked by it. 

“Los Angeles is a better location for that career, but it sounds like you were dealt a bad hand and needed to make do with it.” Thomas pauses, then manages a chuckle at her choice of words, noticing the smile on Olivia’s face. “Sorry, couldn’t resist a gambling joke there.” 

“It’s perfect! I’m a fan of puns and dropping song lyrics into my jokes.” Even though they never go over well with his kidnapped murder victims. It’s good to know she has a sense of humor under her thick skin. “But you’re right! I mainly used the time in Vegas to learn about putting on a show, creating props, developing an identity so I could maybe host my own game show one day.” 

“Is that a goal you’re still aiming towards? Maybe you could get into show business with your cooking skills? Go work for the Food Network or something like that…” Thomas is certainly an interesting character with unique skills, but it all too easily reminds Olivia of Tyrian. However, their personalities are vastly different, as she’s learned through conversation. 

“Kind of. My last job was working as a video editor for a Twitch streamer, but I’m looking to stay out of the limelight for a while. Until I figure things out personally.” He’s lying about that job, but it pads out his history and makes the transition sound realistic. Thomas feels comforted upon seeing the geese out on the manmade lake at night, not afraid of their surroundings or how people view them. 

“Which then brought you to Kansas City. I have to say, you don’t strike me as the type who does a lot of movement, but the kind of guy who wants to find your place and build around it.” Stability is a good thing, in her mind, but it would be interesting to move about the country freely. She does notice how Thoma’s attitude goes from perky to somewhat depressed in the blink of an eye.

“I would've stayed with Aloysious in Vegas for a long time, but a family emergency came up and we grew apart. So I just began taking odd jobs to cover the bills, and I moved from Nevada to Indiana just to escape my responsibilities.” The Midwest is great for laying low, so long as one avoids any major cities. “I’ll never go back home, so long as I live.”

“The family is dead to you, I take it?” Olivia just watches as Thomas nods his head yes in response. She has no idea that literally all of his family are deceased or presumed missing by some means. Closing her eyes for a moment, his own issues with kin reminds her of the disconnection she has with her own mother and father.

Her thoughts are distracted by an unusual mist forming around the surface of the lake, and Olivia notices that the water is bubbling in places. Odd. The calm layer ripples violently, as something rises from the depths. It’s a strangely dressed man in a white suit, but she can’t make out any additional details. 

She’s seen enough horror movies and real-life corpses to not be shocked, but there’s still a tightness in her chest at seeing something so unearthly. That panic only rises a bit when the human reaches into the water and pulls out a long, thin sword from the murky tide. The lake shouldn’t be deep enough for anyone to walk through it, but the man walks on top of the surface with ease. 

Her deadlock is broken at the song of a nearby goose honking, causing Thomas to laugh a little while also stumbling back into Olivia. She turns her attention away from the lake, looking over to see a large white fowl wearing a red ribbon. It certainly belongs to the owners of the restaurant, but where did it come from and why does it look so mischievous.

“He’s so cute! But maybe we should go somewhere else...Olivia…?” Thomas notices that her companions' attention has shifted elsewhere, her eyes gazing out to the water.

She takes a slow breath upon realizing nothing is out there, no intimidating undead man coming to wreak havoc, only the geese being here for that role. Was this a trick of her imagination? Perhaps the alcohol is already inhibiting her normal senses? Either way, it would be foolish to mention what she saw.

“I’m a bit concerned about that goose which is getting closer. You’re right...leaving is the best option.” She finally addresses the waterfowl, Thomas simply nodding in agreement. The two step away from the edge of the lake, venturing further down the grassy terrain, giving the mortician enough time to calm herself.

“Well, back to the original topic at hand, I’ve shared quite a bit of my past here. Guess I have to kill you now.” Thomas laughs, pleased at his ability to hide his own darker fantasy under a casual joke. However, he’s taken aback suddenly when Olivia replies to his words in a serious tone of voice.  

“Is that a promise you intend to keep?” She focuses her eyes on the makeshift electric lamp posts which guide their path and Thomas can see her eyes narrow in anticipation. Perhaps referring to death in front of someone who understands it better than most wasn’t a good idea.

“It’s just a joke, Olivia.” Thomas is already staring at her curiously, trying to unravel the hidden message behind her words, if any. He straightens his back quickly, uncertain if his answer was satisfactory or not. “But it would be nice if I could get to know more about the person behind the mask.” 

“Your proposition from before, I take it? You talked about your past, so now I'm obligated to share mine.” Olivia looks at him thoughtfully, removing a small black disc from her suit pocket, offering it to Thomas. “I’ll answer your questions until that buzzer goes off.” 

“Alright, I’ll play along with your game.” Shit. How much time has passed since they got out here? Thomas simply nods his head, shoving the buzzer into his pocket, clutching his drink carefully. “Tell me about the ex. When Cordelia and I chatted, she seemed...protective? Almost non-human?” 

“She’s always been like that, where I was the voice of reason in the relationship, Cordelia was the emotional one. And really, are any of us human? We're a flawed species that act like animals and monsters most of the time." Olivia starts walking along the grassy path, Thomas keeping up with her slow pace. “As for protecting me, I see no reason for her to react that way.” 

“Pretty sure it’s love, despite whatever analytical counter-argument you try to come up with.” Thomas frowns a bit, realizing that Olivia’s getting him to waste time replying and thinking too deeply about her words. He’s on a timer to get more information. “How did you two meet?” 

“In junior year of high school, we both took a chemistry class together and realized that we wouldn’t screw each other over during group projects. Cordelia was a savant when it came to math and I was already well versed in the sciences. The friendship soon followed after.” A shrug of her shoulders, unfazed, almost feeling no emotions towards the topic. Thomas thinks otherwise, given how quickly Olivia speaks. 

“So you hung out in high school, during college as well, I presume? And then when you both became adults…” Maybe leaving the questions open-ended will convince her to talk, he suspects, to correct his presumed guesses. “It must have been hard, being two women who just wanted love.”

“For starters, we became a couple at age 20, when Cordelia moved to Columbia for her 4-year college program. I was living with her at the time to get out from underneath my parents.” Olivia takes a swig of her beer, contemplating her reply carefully, trying to suppress any sort of emotions. “We suspected our parents would disapprove of our homosexuality, but it turns out the opposite happened. It was still hard for us to go out into public, but…we stopped caring about acceptance and did our own thing.”

“I hope I can feel that way, in due time.” Wanting acceptance is relatable, as Thomas sighs, looking down at his beer bottle in remorse. Olivia had it lucky if she found someone in those critical teenage years who cared. His high school trauma only fueled his inevitable murdering habits. 

“You will, Thomas. I think you’re the first person I’ve met in a long time that I didn’t want to punch within 5 minutes.” She manages a smile, causing his face to grow warm. 

Instead of carrying on about his own problems, Thomas gestures for her to continue talking. “Go on. What happened after you two moved in together?”

“Well, Cordelia graduated from university with an accounting degree while I was working as a lab technician. I didn’t know what I wanted as my career, but she stuck with me while I went to college for Mortuary Science in my late 20’s.” She stops walking once they reach the end of the path, which puts them in front of a large white church. “We really bonded over the years, both romantically and intimately, as if we were destined to be together.”

“You didn’t immediately go to college? That’s...what…?” Thomas looks at her almost expecting a different answer from someone so straightforward and crystal clear with directions. Olivia laughs, then points to his head teasingly. 

“Just like you, it took me a lot of time and experience to figure out what I wanted from this world. My parents always told me I should be a lawyer or a doctor, something that makes money...But if you’re not doing something you love, then what’s the point in living?” Thomas finds himself silently agreeing with her words, and Olivia walks onward.

The entrance to the church is left open, and there’s a brief moment of hesitation, before Thomas steps inside curiously. Judging by the architecture, this wasn’t built here in Missouri but likely brought up from a Southern state and refurbished. Fake candles illuminated with electricity spread amber tones light onto the pristine white pews. It’s strange for Thomas to be in the house of God, but seeing Olivia’s expression grow cold leaves him wondering what kind of pain she’s contemplating, religious or personal. 

“So, regarding Cordelia...was she the one who asked you to wed? And how did it get to this current stage, where you aren’t talking to one another?” It’s better to balance both questions equally, to not focus on dredging up a bad past. Thomas just stands to one side, watching Olivia’s hand rest aimlessly on a nearby seat. 

“Back in 2012, roughly 6 years ago, she took me to Hawaii for a vacation. I was getting ready to start apprenticeship work in a morgue and it was our last real chance to relax. She popped the question on the beaches of the Kohala Coast…” Being in this room is almost heartbreaking, imagining what could have been if everything worked out. 

“As for our inevitable demise, I would say death had a very strong hand in splitting the two of us apart. We changed, mentally and physically, once a great calamity came forth into our lives. Our relationship was tested and it broke under pressure…”  Olivia sighs, walking over to the priests’ podium, careful not to spill her drink. “All things will die and love is no exception to the rule. It’s simply best for all living beings to accept the end without a fight.”

“What is this calamity you speak of? Can you really say that your love has died...?” Thomas feels the buzzer vibrating in his pocket, removing the device, now glowing red. He curses a little under his breath as Olivia smiles back at him. So many questions still left unanswered.

“Your time is up, Thomas.” She walks over to him, taking the buzzer calmly, his hands overlap with hers for a brief second in the exchange. Her composure returns to the familiar face he’s seen in the funeral home. The sadness has all been compressed into her bleak, death-obsessed heart, never to be seen again.  

Thomas watches as Olivia heads for the door, stepping back out into the dark summer night. As his gaze turns one last time to the front wall of the church, he’s not greeted by the pale white scenery, but something otherworldly.  A familiar black mist rises up from his feet, bringing life to an illusion that he never summoned forth. It seems, much to his surprise, the curse is not restricted to his mind.

The room transforms into an expansive living room, adorned with expensive furniture and modern amenities. Standing in the middle of this space is a younger version of Olivia, less gray in her black hair, but there’s a familiar worn-down expression on her face. She’s tired and exhausted, similar to her current persona, but instead of a suit, she’s wearing a worn-down hoodie and jeans. 

“What the hell were you thinking?!”

Cordelia speaks as she steps inside the frame and it takes Thomas a moment to realize it’s the same woman he met in the antique store. The mohawk is gone, replaced by beautiful strands of long turquoise hair, which flows effortlessly off her shoulders. Her punk attire is now replaced with a sharp office dress and blazer and the woman is holding a bottle of rum by the neck with one hand. 

“I want answers, Olivia!”  The alcohol is placed onto the podium along with a white bottle. Thomas takes another step forward, notating the label, a rather strong dosage of painkillers. Cordelia’s rage is familiar to his own, angry outbursts towards innocent people. Except for this time, he knows Olivia personally, which causes the situation to be awkward.  

“Funny how you want to talk now. Why don’t you go get drunk with your co-workers so you can try to forget I exist! I know you don’t want me around anymore, Cordelia!”  Olivia spits out the words bitterly, stepping forward to challenge her fiance. “Am I stressing you out that much?”

“Yes. All you want to do is lie around and be depressed! And this…”  Cordelia points to the two bottles, then Olivia directly. “Is this your fucking answer?! You didn’t do anything wrong and yet you want to punish yourself!” 

“...This is my karma, and I thought out of all people, you would understand that. But you look away and try to act like things haven’t changed.”  Cordelia clenches her fists, watching as Olivia’s stare becomes distant, almost as if she isn’t there. Huffing under her breath, Cordelia takes the rum bottle once more and drops it to the ground in anger, but nothing shatters. It mentally reminds Thomas of the power these illusions hold and their limits.

“I...we’re going to discuss this further when I get home from work.”  There’s something to be said about a grown woman walking away from her lover, but the amount of tension in the room puts Thomas on edge. It’s so hard to tell who’s at fault here, but he can’t help but peer deeper into the rabbit hole. 

Walking closer to Olivia, he watches her stare down at a black and gold ring on her finger, the gemstones seem faded. In fact, everything in this illusion is detailed, from the worn layers of skin under Olivia’s eyes to her watered tears, he’s in this moment that her heart created. 

The curse is changing, the powers used to be fueled by his own emotions, but seem to be latching onto other strong feelings. It must have happened when Olivia touched his fingers for a brief second, allowing him access to the subconscious thoughts she was mulling over. Should he feel sadness towards her grief? Or is the mystery surrounding her that much more compelling?

Thomas’s fingertips move in tandem with the billowing wisps of smoke around his hand, reaching for Olivia’s ring. In that instance, her voice cuts through the illusion, causing the past vision and the smoke to fade in mere seconds. 

“Thomas. You coming?” Olivia’s form waits for him at the chapel doorway, waving the glowing buzzer in her hand. He takes a deep breath, then heads out of the quiet building to greet her once more. 

“Sorry, got distracted by all the details inside that place. I’m a sucker for a compelling tale.” Why ruin a good moment with friends when he can simply try to process that illusion later? Thomas nods, giving her the best smile he can, gesturing for his female companion to lead the way back to the restaurant.

It’s 30 minutes past 9 and Silas is trying to process what all happened in the last two hours. His plan was flawless, slipping in undetected at the restaurant, positioned mere feet from Thomas and his company. And yet, despite all of his hard work, the evening didn’t go as planned. Nothing unusual happened between the two coworkers, let alone their choice of topics implied a long-withstanding companionship. Hearing two grown adults talk about the ’90s was unfulfilling and unhelpful. 

“What the hell am I missing…?” Failure is not an easy pill to swallow, as Silas stares at his empty glass of iced tea, wishing it was a cold beer right now. He would’ve assumed Thomas to have jumped by now, take a free kill when possible, but the guy isn’t doing anything abnormal. 

“Does he know I’m watching him? Is that woman keeping him in check?” Slamming one hand down on the table, the sheriff’s behavior only gets stares from the staff, who’re busy cleaning up the restaurant. Not wanting to anger the on-site manager, he stands up, leaving behind exact change for his paltry meal. Something about seeing a criminal chatting casually and enjoying a warm dinner kills his own appetite, as no one who’s killed thousands should be allowed the common pleasures of life.

Stepping outside, Silas reaches for his phone, looking over the data he’s accumulated from this evening. He was able to record parts of Thomas’s conversations, along with taking plenty of discreet photos, anything that could be of value. Silas needs to get into the police station and run a background check on Ms. Moore, along with her coworkers asap. 

There’s an unusual text waiting for him from Dexter, however, which gets his attention. 

“I caught Thomas into a trap?!” Silas reads the message out loud, fully trying to process what the hell he’s reading. Instead of waiting for answers, he’s immediately dialing Dexter’s number, getting an answer after the second ring.

“Sheriff Calhoun! Did you get my message?” There’s an eager tone to Dexter’s voice as Silas rubs the bridge of his nose with one hand.  He’s tired and this sudden burst of energy is actually rather annoying to deal with.

“Yes, and I have lots of questions for you...What kind of trap are you talking about? Didn’t I tell you to not draw attention to yourself?” Nevermind that he’s just spent hours watching Thomas to no avail, hearing his younger companion say he has a plan is frustrating.

“I’m forcing him to go out with our coworkers to a club. We can use that as a chance to spy on him further! Maybe we can provoke him!” Dexter hears Silas audibly groan at the idea, but presses onward. “He doesn’t like the idea of hanging out, so that could be our ticket to getting a confession! Or seeing him slip up!” 

“...I’m going to stop you right there because I just spent two hours watching him chat with your mortician over a full course meal. And he didn’t give off one hint of being a killer!” Then again, Dexter might have a point. Silas slips into his vehicle, not turning on the engine just yet. “Is Ms. Moore going along with this work outing?”

“Olivia did what?!? She went out with Thomas?!?” Dexter’s practically hyperventilating on the other end of the phone, trying to process what’s going on. Olivia never makes friends. “N-no, she wasn’t invited...Why are you asking about her?” 

“Because I think she might be involved in the Trivia Murder Party case. If she’s covering for Thomas, then we’re never going to get a break in the case through observation. But if he goes out alone tomorrow…” Silas ignores the panicked questions, shoving his keys into the ignition forcefully. “Then we can follow that wild plan of yours. Get him into a situation where becoming a killer is the only way out.” 

“That sounds great, but what about Olivia? Do you really think she’s working for Thomas?” For the first time in a long while, Dexter’s being forced to reevaluate his coworkers, and not in a good way. What if she’s not the only one playing right into the killer’s hands? Tyrian hired him on a whim, after all.

“There’s only one way to find out. I’m going to get a background check done on her and everyone else in your workplace. If she’s not involved, there’s a good chance someone else might be.” Silas looks down at the phone in his hands. “Text me all the information for tomorrow, Dexter. I’ll be there with bells on.” 

“O-of course.” There’s a moment of hesitation in Dexter, his hands becoming slippery with sweat, as he frantically types up a message. On the other end, Silas’s phone buzzes, revealing an address and time to meet up. “Sheriff Calhoun, I’m a bit concerned regarding this plan. If the only way to catch the killer is by making them do something bad, won’t that put innocent people in harm’s way?” 

“There’s a very small chance that can happen, given both of us will be watching and waiting for him to make a move. We can prevent others from being injured.” Silas has his own doubts, given his earlier proclamation to Dexter about keeping people safe. At this rate, without even a hint of risk, nothing’s going to give, especially if the host has generous patrons.

“...I see. I’ll trust your judgment until the end.” Dexter breathes a heavy sigh of relief, shifting his attention off questioning Silas’s methods, instead of wanting to know their next choice of action. Anything to keep him from thinking about Olivia’s sudden change of heart and the inevitable secrets that lie within the funeral home walls. 

Silas has nothing more to say towards the matter, mind firing at all speeds, trying to come up with an idea. “So he’s going to an improv show...Perfect. You just keep acting like a friendly coworker to him, I’ll do the dirty work tomorrow.” 

The sign of a good sheriff is adapting to a situation and as Silas puts his hands on the wheel, he smirks confidently. “Trying to fit into society is the worst mistake you can make, Mr. Carter. All killers make a mistake eventually and I’ll make sure you go away for a long time.” 

Chapter Text

Unwanted social outings are simply the worst. It’s one thing for Thomas to have to entertain his ‘friends’ outside of work, but he knows it’ll involve lots of conversations and unnecessary 'bonding moments'.

Felicia, coming in clutch like always, had a new outfit delivered to the house earlier that morning for him. Her fashion sense is terrifying, in that she can always match a person with the right wardrobe for their personality and body type. 

Today she’s sent him a light pink button-up shirt, with a thin black tie adorned with a cherry blossom pattern and an expensive pair of black slacks. Initially skeptical of the color choices, Thomas now stands in front of the long mirror in his bedroom, dressed impeccably for the upcoming evening.

“Pink and black. You weren’t joking when you said that the two colors would look good on me.” Thomas’s black hair rests calmly on his shoulders, still admiring his reflection in the mirror carefully. The sound of laughter comes from his nearby cell phone, Felecia’s welcoming voice following suit. 

“I’ve had years to perfect all aspects of dating, Thomas. Clothing is a very important factor in impressing your friends or loved ones.” She can confirm the efficiency of her work, based on the text message Thomas sent to her a few minutes ago, containing his photo. “You seem to be enjoying Liberty quite a lot lately. Are you settling in nicely or is the town simply a stop-gap?"

"...I'm not sure. Part of me wants to get back into killing, to prove my family wrong and that I have worth! However, I met someone at work and she’s been letting me see the dead up close.” He chuckles a little bit, straightening his tie. "She doesn't judge me at all, and in fact, encourages me to do new things. We’re both 90’s kids and she knows a lot about the city, where to get the best food, and so on.”

"Would you call her a friend?" Felicia's words cause Thomas to stop messing with his outfit, mainly because he’s been wavering on this question as well. Perhaps in the beginning he would’ve pegged Olivia as a late-game victim, but she’s different from other contestants, being consciously aware of death. That’s the part of her personality he likes the most. Still...

"No. She's...just an asset to be used." It pains him to say those things, but he has other thoughts on his mind as well, answers that only Felicia can provide. "The curse is evolving...I'm getting control of it, as I was able to see someone else's darkness and latent memories."

Felicia isn't entirely convinced by Thomas's statement, especially how quickly he shifted topics, but she’s inclined to jump in to offer advice. "It gives you a power that other humans could never master. Illusions are always driven by the heart, so the circumstances must've been working in your favor. If this person’s emotions were running wild, there’s a very good chance you picked up on it, most likely through close contact.”

Thinking back now, he was asking Olivia about her engagement, while standing in a 200-year-old church. Combined with her inebriated mindstate, it only seems viable that the curse could show him the past so easily. “Should I feel guilty for seeing something so personal?”

“That’s not like you to say such a thing. I figured you’d be excited at the prospect of gaining new insight on a potential victim. But it seems like this person isn’t a target…” Felicia laughs a little, which causes Thomas to pause and stare at the phone. “You’re changing, Thomas. And it’s not just your increased understanding of the curse and its blessings, but you’re showing hesitation towards the kill.”

“I...can’t tell if it’s a bad thing or not.” Confusion wracks his brain, as his eyes go back to the mirror, staring deeply at his own reflection. Gone are the days of wearing blood-soaked hoodies and thick rain boots, now replaced by fancy ties and shirts. Mere weeks ago he could’ve confidently answered that question, but now he’s starting to accept a normal lifestyle. 

“In the end, only you get to decide who lives and who dies. I’ll always support whatever choice you make, until the end of time.” A promise she intends to keep, given her legacy with Thomas’s family, transcending hundreds of years. Someone has to keep an eye out on him.  

“I owe you a lot, Felicia. It’s only because of you that I can actually do all this freely.” The conversation is nice, but his phone alarm beeps suddenly, causing the killer to reach for the device quickly. After disarming the timer, he gets one last look at the mirror. “I’ll text you later and tell you how the evening goes, but for now, I should get going. Thank you again for everything.” 

“It’s my pleasure, Thomas. I’m a bit busy tonight with a vampire social gathering, but I’ll check my phone when I can. Be sure to stay safe and have a good time!” And ending on that note, the phone call disconnects, leaving Thomas alone once more.

“Things are going to be alright. It’s just one stupid outing that won’t be more than a couple of hours. Everything is fine.” Thomas talks to himself as he heads for the front door, slipping on a brand new pair of black dress shoes. One last check of his pocket to ensure his phone and wallet are present, before grabbing the car keys and heading out the door. 

It’s another day in the low 90’s, the sun slowly dipping below the horizon, giving the skyline a beautiful orange haze. Hopping into the Plymouth Fury, he starts up the car and takes it onto the dirt county road which leads to the highway. The drive is about 30 minutes, extra time to get anxious or calm in the process. Soon rural roads are replaced by large, congested buildings, indicating his entry into Kansas City proper.

Westport itself is a rather busy neighborhood to be in, the area is full of open bars and restaurants, different hole-in-the-wall concert venues, and music stores. After a 20 minute struggle to find an open parking garage, Thomas steps out of his car only a few blocks away from the destined venue. It’s rather fun watching people pass by on the sidewalks, or stopping to window shop at one of the local stores. 

Approaching the large brown building from the outside, there’s a sudden feeling of anxiety in Thomas’s chest as he sees the line of people eager to get into the KC improv comedy club. Next door is the equally busy Green Room bar, where people are sitting at different tables, partaking in french fries, hamburgers, and delectable shakes. Thomas makes a mental note to stop off here at the end of the night in order to enjoy something sugary. 

After a few minutes of waiting to get indoors, Thomas enters the two-level building and immediately follows the crowd down the metal stairs and into the ‘basement’. The stage catches his attention first, the smooth, raised black floor shimmers with reflected light from the spotlights above. A large black curtain covers the wall and a few chairs reside on stage, most likely to be used as props for the improv comedians.

It’s a stage he wishes to be on, maybe not with a full house present, but a casual set of ‘guests’ who want to indulge his trivia questions. The number of people standing around chatting and drinking is too much to handle, every being packed into available seating. In one corner is a small bar and a setup for the announcer and DJ, who’s currently blasting Leann Rimes criminally underrated song from Coyote Ugly, ‘Can’t Fight The Moonlight’. 

‘Thomas! Over here!” Amber’s peppy voice is easily heard over the crowds of people standing around the bar. She’s also waving one hand in the air, holding an alcoholic cocktail in the other. It takes a few seconds for Thomas to politely nudge past the other patrons, stopping mere inches in front of the blond-haired woman who seems very happy to see him. 

“Amber...hey...glad to see you as well.” He’s giving her outfit a glance over, a sunflower patterned summer dress and grey cardigan draped over her shoulders, befitting of the summer season. Much more colorful than anything she’d usually wear into the morgue. “Hope I’m not late for the show.” 

“You’re completely fine! We’ve got about thirty minutes to kill, so why don’t I get you a drink? You want something alcoholic?” She’s already getting in line to order, Thomas standing somewhat beside her. He doesn’t want to give anyone the impression that he and Amber are a couple.

“No liquor tonight since I drove myself here, but I appreciate the offer.” Glancing at the bar menu, Thomas frowns at the lack of his usual favorites on tap, so he settles on a grape Fanta instead. Amber adds his drink to her running tab for the night, then gestures for Thomas to follow her to a set of red theater-style seats positioned in the middle of the room.

“So, first off, your outfit is amazing! It’s so hard for guys to pull off colors like pink, but you’ve killed it! The tie is so beautiful as well with the cherry blossom patterns.” She’s not the type to touch someone’s clothes randomly, so instead, Amber simply gestures to his shirt with her free hand. 

“I had help from a friend, so I’ll be sure to let her know that the selection was spot on.” The compliment feels nice, helping to ease Thomas’s nerves. No one is watching him. Although now he feels obligated to say nice things about his coworker, even though he could care less. “Your dress looks really nice as well.” Not like he means it, the vibrant yellows actually irritates his eyes greatly.

“Oh, thank you! It’s really nice not having to dress in black all the time. I have to separate work from my regular life as much as I can.” Amber blushes a bit, adjusting herself in the chair better. “So, have you been enjoying the job lately? I saw Olivia took you out to Garozzo’s as your freebie meal. That place is amazing!” 

“I’m really happy to be working for the funeral home, the job really gives me a sense of accomplishment.” Thomas has to process the provided information, remembering that Amber runs a lot of the finances, so getting a peek at the credit card statement was inevitable. “Yeah, she dropped that one me out of the blue. Could’ve taken me to a Denny’s and I would’ve been happy, but the Italian food was a really nice treat.” 

“Hey, you’re an important part of the team, so you deserve good things as well! Glad to see she stepped up and did something unselfish for once as well.” Amber stirs the paper umbrella in her Strawberry Sunrise idly. She seems pleased at the direction this chat is going, so Thomas takes this as a prime opportunity to learn more about her. 

“So how long have you been with the company? What got you interested in the funeral profession?” He’s faking a smile, remembering to not stare at Amber with any creepy or hidden intent. It’s harder than it looks to feign normality in such a situation. 

“I’ve been there for 5 years, the same amount of time as Olivia since we both got hired in simultaneously. To be honest, it was my first time working with grieving customers and I’m not exactly strong-willed when it comes to seeing the deceased. But Tyrian must have seen something in my skill set…” Amber knows the truth behind that, but easily exudes an aura of happiness without difficulty. “I finally feel like I’m doing something good for humanity.” 

“Anyone who works in this field has to have some sort of emotional connection to it. You really fill the empathetic role quite easily. Unlike me, just being the janitor…” Depreciation of oneself is an easy way to garner sympathy, and Amber falls into the part without fail. 

She reaches down and gently touches Thomas’s hand, despite his disdain towards physical contact, but the gesture only lasts a moment. “Thomas, you’re important too. Because of your hard work, we’re able to get lots of things done without worrying about funeral proceedings being interrupted and consultations go easier with a clean space.” 

“I take it the last janitor was problematic?” Thomas notices Amber’s eyes get narrow, biting her tongue in response. 

“He was a disgusting and obnoxious mess. You’re leagues above him.” Nodding her head, Amber takes a sip of her pinkish-toned drink. Chad was the worst, as both a coworker and a boyfriend, not missed for even a second.

Thomas taps one finger on the seat handle, debating his next line of questions, especially with Amber being slightly tilted. Certainly, he knows that the blond favors Dexter and she seems to have a mutual working relationship with Olivia. But what’s her stance on the big boss himself? Only one way to find out...

“What about you and Tyrian? He seems like the kind of person who needs extra hands-on help.” Amber’s natural perky tone drops off suddenly, as she sighs loudly, looking down at her alcoholic beverage. 

“We have a working relationship in the office, nothing beyond that.” That’s a rather hard fact for Thomas to accept, seeing Amber clearly trying to downplay the situation. Her mood has also turned rather dark and dreary. “Much as you like the place, I wouldn’t encourage you to stay a long time, Thomas. Eventually, Tyrian will get a noose around your neck as well.”

“That’s a rather grim way of saying he has power over everyone.” Thomas looks over and sees Amber trying to smooth out her dress, hiding her natural beauty, as if ashamed by it. He can only take a guess as to what her relationship with Tyrian is like, based on their conflicting personalities. It’s certainly a lot of sexual harassment, full of snide comments.

“It’s the truth though. No matter what I do, I’m afraid of him kicking the box out from underneath my feet. Then again, I brought this upon myself in so many ways.” Amber fakes a smile back to Thomas, trying to recover the situation, but failing spectacularly. “I’ll be okay, but remember to take care of yourself and don’t be afraid to leave if stuff gets bad.” 

Thomas tries to push the negative thoughts out of his brain, wrapping his fingers tightly around the cold can of soda. Tyrian is the type of person that deserves to be murdered, the kind of human no one would ever miss. It’s painfully obvious that he’s violated Amber in some form or fashion, against her will. Then again, it’s her own damn fault for sticking around as well.

“I’ll take your advice to heart.” Glancing down at his watch, Thomas hopes the rest of the evening goes this smoothly, especially if it’s only him and Amber around. But if the conversation keeps going this direction, he’ll have nothing but murder on the brain for a long time.

Plans involving money always shape up well, as Silas has found through years of working both undercover and as an active officer of the law. He’s at the front of the Green Room bar, offering his credit card to the bartender, while a group of adults surrounds him. 

The first round of drinks is on me, friends!” There're at least 20 adults in the room who seem eager to take Silas up on his offer, most are happily patting the sheriff on his back. Meanwhile, off to one unseen corner of the bar, Dexter watches with a frown on his face, sipping idly at his Sprite.

“Has he lost his mind?” Dexter simply shrugs his shoulders and waits for Silas to actually notice he’s here. The sheriff advised him, at the beginning of their walk into the bar, that he would take care of everything. However, no matter how many calculations or scenarios he’s contemplated, Dexter can’t figure out what this ‘plan’ is. 

That is until he sees Silas happily chatting with his new inebriated friends. 

“Hey, pal! Did you hear about the Trivia Murder Party Killer? That quack is seriously a funny and stupid guy!” Dexter raises an eyebrow as Silas puts a beer into someone’s hand, the middle-aged man simply nods in agreement to his words. 

“Yeah, dude. Wonder if someone will bring him up tonight?” The blond-haired ‘friend’ takes a long drink of his beer, while Silas gives him a friendly pat on the back. 

“For sure. If anyone mentions his name tonight, we should all cheer and get super excited. It’ll be fucking hilarious.” Both men laugh and Dexter is left speechless at the devised strategy. Improv is all about audience participation and Silas is setting everyone up to chat about the killer while under the guise of alcohol. 

“He really did have a plan…” Standing up from his seat, Dexter manages to wave Silas down after a few minutes. The sheriff smiles at him, giving a quick thumbs up. 

“So what do you think, Dexter? Tonight’s show is going to be amazing, don’t you agree?” After his late-night yesterday, Silas holds up his own beer like a champ, taking a long sip. Based on his attitude, the nerd has to wonder if he’s been drinking beforehand. 

“I was skeptical at first, but you got me. Seems like you’ve used a clever tactic of getting people subconsciously thinking about a certain someone.” Dexter can’t help but laugh, but Silas immediately gets serious once more.

“Don’t breathe easy quite yet. You need to get in there and keep Mr. Carter from getting cold feet. Let’s make sure he gets all the attention he deserves!”  He releases his grip on the nerd, pointing to the door which leads into the comedy club. 

“You’re not coming in behind me?” Dexter’s blood pressure starts to rise, staring at the door as if it's a haunted gateway into another dimension. “What if I mess this up? He could get frustrated and leave or…”

“I gotta make sure the rest of the crown is hyped up first.” Silas glances down at his watch, nodding calmly. “You only need to kill 10 minutes. I’ll sneak in during the last 5, somewhere in the back so Thomas can’t see me. I’m certain you can’t do anything wrong with that timeframe.”

 “...Okay, I got this! Just talk to him like one of my professors.” Dexter pinches his cheek, the sharp pain helping his focus. “Alright, see you at the end.” Silas simply nods as Dexter walks down the narrow green hallway, past the smaller dressing rooms, entering the club from its secondary exit. 

It doesn’t take him long to spot Thomas’s long black hair and Amber’s familiar blond locks from behind. Both hands at his side, Dexter walks over to their seats, quickly giving a friendly wave. “Hey everyone! Did you save me a seat?”

Thomas already has his attention on the nerd, who’s wearing a simple graphic tee shirt and a pair of dress pants. Instead of being nervous, Dexter finds his attitude rising to the occasion, not as easily intimidated, much to Thomas’s dismay.

“Dexter! I’m so glad you came!” Amber is already standing to give her ‘little brother’ a hug, before gesturing him into a nearby seat. In that brief moment, Thomas frowns, not enjoying the extra company. Amber was someone he could tolerate, but Dexter is quickly rising the ranks of being a nuance. 

“Good to see you both as well, Amber...Thomas.” Dexter puts that extra emphasis on his coworkers’ name, choosing to not sit down quite yet. No. He’s still on edge around Thomas, especially if the latter has already been making friends in the workplace. “I’m going to get a soda and then we can chat, alright?” 

“Sure thing!” Amber, ever oblivious to the truth, simply sits back down with her glass carefully. Not wanting to seem awkward, Thomas follows suit, his gaze still on Dexter’s back, trying to figure out what the nerd is up to. Nothing ends up happening.

While grabbing a fresh Sprite from the bar, Dexter takes a quick glance at the chairs behind them, seeing that Silas has all but blended in with the seated crowd. Good, the plan is in motion without any issues. 

“So, Thomas...you ended up coming out after all?” What kind of question is that? The killer has to bite his tongue to keep his anger from showing. Instead, he replies with the politest voice he can muster up. 

“Of course! I value my job and do not want to upset Tyrian. Maybe the show will be fun? I dunno.” Another sip of his soda is enough to calm his agitated nerves, but Dexter shows no signs of relenting. 

“What are your thoughts on improv then? Could you see yourself getting on stage and entertaining a bunch of people?” That second question feels like a knife being jammed into his stomach. Of course, he’d love to be ‘entertaining’ other people in a violent, homicidal way. Thomas manages a weak laugh in response. 

“I’m shy, so getting up on stage would be an absolute nightmare…” He fakes embarrassment, not even answering the second question. Thankfully, Amber is there to bail him out with her own opinion. 

“Oh, I completely get that! Every day when I have to interact with our clients and talk to them about their loved ones dying, I always wish I could become a wallflower.” She nods, patting the seat next to her. “But enough about all the negative nancy talk! Dexter, you need to tell me how your Dungeons and Dragons game has been going lately.”

“Huh? Sure I can update you on our most recent quest.” Even as he’s stepping away, Dexter gives Thomas one last stare, before taking a seat next to Amber. Thomas gets his desired reprieve, sinking into the chair as if trying to disappear from sight.

Thankfully no other types of conversations start between him and his coworkers, as the lights in the room start to dim 10 minutes later and the announcer in the back of the room gets on the microphone. Everyone who was standing around before has taken a seat, leaving the stage visible and clear. 

“Hey everyone, are we having a good time tonight?” The crowd eagerly claps their hands and yells loudly to the announcer. The announcer points to the stage, the spotlights moving in a circular fashion. “Alright, you all came here to see some comedy, so let’s get this show going! Tonight’s host is one of our veteran improv members, give it up for Tyrian Disour!!!”

The DJ throws on a rather catchy rock song, the lyrics singing about getting devious and feeling glamorous, welcoming people into the cult of Dionysus. An aptly fitting song for someone who lives by the God of Wine’s principles. Stepping onto the stage with a microphone in his hand is Tyrian dressed in a fancy three-piece grey suit, white vest, and a dark purple cravat. 

Jealousy shouldn’t be creeping up into Thomas’s heart but he hates how Tyrian is getting loads of applause and cheers on stage. The reddish-brown haired gentleman quickly speaks up, the music grows softer in response. “Hello, Kansas City! Glad to see you’re all here for a fun night of improv!” His green eyes scan the crowd, spotting Amber, Dexter, and Thomas all seated together.

“Tonight, you’re all in for a treat, cause we’ll be having our local up and coming improv group doing some fun skits for you. Let’s bring them on stage, shall we? Give it up for the Fakin’ It’s!” Tyrian raises his hand, motioning for a group of six to come up, each one dressed in a specific colored outfit. 

Thomas just rolls his eyes at the overly eager ‘comedians’, grateful that they didn’t dye their hair the same color as their clothes. It’s already awful enough watching a bunch of people imitating crayons act like idiots. The show starts off uninteresting, a watered-down version of ‘Whose Line Is It Anyway’?, where the audience keeps chucking ideas at Tyrian to turn into some random kooky improv scene. 

Boring. Simply boring. This would be a great time to catch up on Reddit threads or looking at cute animal gifs, but Thomas keeps his hands away from his cell phone. Maybe Olivia was right, the whole experience isn’t a complete dumpster fire, but simply feels dull and lifeless. The social interactions are worse than any of these so-called ‘jokes’ the improv players are enacting.

It isn’t until thirty minutes into the show that Thomas gets a feeling that the next game might be somewhat interesting, given how excited Tyrian looks to present it. For the first time, he raises an eyebrow and leans forward in his seat, still clutching his half-full can of soda carefully. 

“We’re going to play a little game called ‘Party Quirks’. It’s a pretty simple scene where a party is taking place, and our host is going to have to guess who or what her guests are supposed to be.” Tyrian smirks, motioning to an African-American woman wearing a blue dress. “Vera here is going to be our host of the night, but we’re going to politely ask her to leave the room while we decide who her party guests will be.”

“Bye, all!” Vera eagerly steps off the stage and into a back room where she can’t hear anything, giving Tyrian time to address the crowd. All night long he’s been keeping the crowd excited, this moment is no different.

“Alright, now that she’s out of earshot, let's come up with some identities for our friends on stage here. He motions for three of the improv actors to come forward, pointing to a woman wearing a vivid purple dress. “Starting with Alyssa here. What’s a good personality for her to represent?”

The audience starts throwing out random suggestions, some of them absurd, but Tyrian focuses on a specific choice, mimicking it back to the room. “Someone in the crowd mentioned a moody teenager. I like that one. Alyssa, that’s your role for the scene.” 

“Can do!” She laughs and steps off to the side while another man in a red sweatshirt walks up to the front of the stage. It takes Tyrian a moment to think of a new adjective or suggestion, quickly laying it out to the audience. 

“Alright, we’ve got Owen here. What’s a good creature or animal he can act as?” The typical cliche answers arise from the drunk crowd, but a woman gets her point across by yelling over everyone else. 

“A Yeti!” The remaining improv members laugh and Tyrian wipes away a fake tear in sheer joy. 

“Do I get some bananas or fake snow for my skit? Just kidding!” Owen is a true sport who starts practicing facial expressions offstage next to Alyssa. He’s trying to figure out how to make his teeth look intimidating as Tyrian gestures for the last improv member to be subjected to his role.  

“Finally, let’s pick a famous person for Robert. Any takers?” The man, wearing a vibrant yellow shirt and tie, looks out at the people eagerly. 

Different names flood the improv hall, ranging from Paris Hilton, Guy Fieri, and even Arnold Schwarzenegger, but one suggestion cuts through the eager crowd of attendees, like a hot knife into butter. Dexter blinks and recognizes Silas’s gruff voice, now made crystal clear.

The words shake Thomas to his core.

“The Trivia Murder Party Killer.” The voice is male and comes from somewhere in the back of the room, leaving Thomas uncertain if he should turn around or not. It doesn’t help that Tyrian makes no gesture to the speaker, leaving him frozen in place. 

He’s expecting no sane person to agree to this suggestion, but the patrons erupt in joy and laughter. Many are eagerly repeating the selection, some are whispering to themselves in confusion or fear. By any act of god, Thomas wants this man dead, especially now that Tyrian’s attention is drawn to it.

“Wow, that’s pretty topical, but relevant to the theme of the game. Alright, I’ll let it go! Robert, you feel up for the challenge?” The whole game show killer from the internet is nothing more than a stupid myth to Tyrian, so he could care less about how sensitive the topic is. 

“It’ll be fun! Time to show off my scary side!” The goatee-wearing man simply puffs up his chest and steps off to the left side of the stage with his fellow ‘party-goers’.

Oh no. No, no, no. This is going to end badly. Thomas tightly grasps his drink and considers standing up, but sees Dexter watching him curiously. He sits back down without saying a word, only weakly keeping his gaze on the stage, as Vera reenters the room to thunderous applause and clapping. It’s like watching a bad horror movie, knowing that the jumpscare is coming and being unable to prepare for it.

“Vera, glad to have you back! We’ve got your guests all ready to go, so let’s throw ourselves a party, shall we?” Tyrian nods as Vera gives him a quick nod of her head. 

“You got it!” She’s eagerly walking to the other side of the stage, hands beside her, the other three improv performers plan to enter on her opposite side. Finally Tyrian claps his hands together loudly, saying those three famous last words.

“Start the scene!”

“It’s time for my annual Netflix and chill party! Hopefully, the guests will get here soon.” Vera starts pantomiming in the middle of the stage, acting as if she’s pouring drinks and preparing snack bowls full of popcorn. Off to the right, Alyssa walks up to an invisible door, knocking calmly, which causes Vera to head her way. 

“Hello, my good friend! How are you…?” Alyssa is sighing loudly, looking only mildly interested in the party, leaving Vera to show concern. “Darling, are you alright?” 

“Yeah, I’m fine, mother. Just show me where the hot boys are. I hope you ordered vegan pizza instead of that shitty gluten-free garbage.” Alyssa walks into the fake kitchen, acting as if she’s sampling the snacks, reaching for a ‘glass’. “Oh good, you have booze.” 

“Are you sure you should be drinking that?” Vera watches as Alyssa downs the drink, dancing around the room crazily. The door knocks a second time, leaving her to move to stage right quickly. 

“Welcome to the party, Mr…?” She’s holding it together as Owen hops into the house, mouth wide open and acting more like a monkey than a yeti. He’s scratching his ‘fur’, shaking around, and acts like he’s picking a bug off Vera’s dress. 

“Ah, come on in, my fluffy friend. I’m sure we have plenty of non-bug treats for you here.” Vera gestures Owen inside, who starts tearing up her furniture and knocking over the snack bowl before she finally leads him to the fridge.

“Here you go, sweetheart. Why don’t you chomp on these ice cubes, okay?” Owen grunts in approval as Vera heads to the door one last time.

Thomas can feel his heart racing out of his chest, as the third knock happens.

Vera ‘opens’ the door, to be met with a man who’s acting rather suspicious, but strangely friendly with the party host. In a glorified effeminate sort of way. 

“Hey, girl! Thanks for inviting me to the party! I brought some new trivia games that you’ll die for!” The impostor starts walking through the fake house set like he owns the damn place, disregarding Owen and moving straight to Alyssa. “You look like you want to have some fun tonight? Want to spin my Loser Wheel?” 

“Ewww! No!’ Alyssa pushes Robert away, causing Vera to try and do damage control. She’s starting to pick up on their ‘hidden’ identities, playing along with it.

“Now now, Mr. Host. This is my party and we’ll be watching Netflix, not stabbing people over cash.” Vera politely tries to move Robert to a distant corner, but he keeps coming back to harass both women equally. 

“Come on ladies! I have plenty of fun games we can play together.” He mimics picking up a knife and the audience eats it up, laughing louder than any of the other skits performed this evening. People are jeering, pointing, and laughing at the entire skit, amused at this so-called ‘man’ trying to murder people with dumb trivia.

Thomas finds his grip around the soda can tightening, eyes growing wide at the scene. Run. He’s trying to get himself to move, but something keeps holding him back. The fact that this whole thing feels like an intentional stab at his ego and the harsh reality that anyone and everyone in this room could be out to get him.

“Wow. That guy really sounds like the phantom internet murder killer. I didn’t realize he was so...girly.” One woman whispers to her boyfriend, who nods in agreement.

“Yeah, I saw one of his streams a few months ago. The guy is a complete loser. I bet the dolls aren’t even real people.” He laughs, pointing to the stage. “Who thinks anyone wants to watch a show about fake murders?”

The couple is talking to themselves in front of Thomas, and it takes every inch of energy to not kick their chairs with his foot. The scene only lasts a few minutes, but it feels like an eternity since everyone is laughing....at him. His show. All the things he’s spent years working on is just a cruel joke to humanity. 

Dad was right. He doesn’t matter to this world. 

Thomas can’t turn his eyes away from the disaster, torn between a fit of unhealthy anger and the depressing reality of his failures. Even when the scene breaks and Vera is left to guess what her partners were imitating, Thomas finds himself fully invested in the ending. She figures out the first two with ease, but gets stuck on the ‘murder killer’. 

“Is Robert an evil version of a game show host?” Vera shrugs her shoulders, resigning to her inability to get the full reference. Tyrian is more than happy to reveal the answer to her.

“Close enough on the guess, he was the Trivia Murder Party host.”

“Oh, yeah I would’ve never guessed that. I forgot he even exists.” That line gets the audience to break out into tears as Tyrian just laughs along with them. 

Thomas’s eyes go wide, throwing one hand over his mouth, in pure disgust and rage. He’s being forgotten? No. People need to remember he exists! That his shows are worth something! And he needs to remind them by killing this wannabe comedian...No...He takes a deep breath and tries to calm down, as flying off the handle will not help the situation.

He has to get away, but something feels off, as Thomas slowly turns his gaze to Dexter, who’s watching him blankly. The nerd wasn’t the one who suggested the topic, but somehow Thomas feels like his co-worker is profiting off his pain. As if he wants Thomas to slip up. Amber is completely oblivious to what’s going on, half attentive to the show.

The rest of the evening goes uneventfully, ending with a large on-stage ensemble where Tyrian gets to play the improv games he’s been hosting. Everything is a blur to Thomas, simply sipping on his drink, trying to keep his emotions in check. Once the show ends, the crowd heads out the back entrance, leading into the Green Room bar. 

“Well, that was weird as usual.” Amber frowns, glancing down at Thomas curiously, upon standing up from her chair. “What did you think of it, Thomas?” 

“It was okay, I guess.” He feigns interest, shaking the empty soda car with his hand. “I’m going to go to the bathroom. Should I meet you both in the bar?” 

“Yeah, that would be great.” Dexter politely nods his head, watching as Thomas wastes no time in escaping to the nearest restroom. He catches Silas out of the corner of his eye, who’s following Thomas by a few steps. 

It feels nice to Dexter, knowing he can go have a nice time for the rest of the evening, while Thomas suffers in agony. 

“Fuck…” Thomas whispers under his breath as he steps into the congested club bar, locking himself into the nearest stall. He doesn’t need to use the facilities, choosing to pull out his phone in a desperate attempt to contact Felicia. Even if tonight’s stunt at the improv show was pure coincidence, he can feel the curse flowing through his body. 

“Felicia, please pick up…” The dial tone keeps ringing until he’s forced to hang up in frustration. Is he going to lose control here? Staring at the glowing phone, Thomas pauses for a second, then types in Olivia’s contact information. Texting her might give him a brief moment of respite, but saying the wrong words will tip her off that he’s a killer. 

Hey, Olivia. What kind of believable excuse do I tell Tyrian so I can go home? 

Thomas hears the bathroom door open, watching as a set of shadows coasts past each stall, stopping for a brief second. Someone is looking. He turns his back to the door, tightening his grip on the phone, trying to look like he’s using the bathroom for its intended purpose. Before the shadow can get to him, there’s a brief exchange outside of the stall, one man trying to apologize to the other. 

“Hey! What the fuck? Can’t you see I’m trying to pee here?” Someone is clearly upset at being bumped into, as a body can be heard hitting the back wall.

“I don’t want any trouble here! I just need a stall…” Silas’s voice can be heard, pleading with the other patron, who’s not having any of his shit. 

“Yeah, fuckwad. They’re all full! Go wait outside!” Thomas slowly cracks the door, peering out to see a buff blond man pinning another gentleman to the wall. His features look familiar, but he doesn’t want to lose this opportunity to slip out unnoticed, not when the entire bathroom is full of drunk men. 

Calmly blending into the existing crown, Thomas gives Silas one last look over his shoulder, trying to remember the mysterious man’s features. He doesn’t recognize the sheriff at all, but Silas clearly does, as he struggles to get free. 

“Hey, I can go wait outside! Just let me go!” Silas watches as Thomas gets out of the bathroom with ease, anger creeping onto his face. The drunk patron he’s pissed off notices the empty stall and points to it, almost shoving Silas inside. 

“Here. Go jackoff by yourself.” No. No. Silas tries to move past the bulky man, but he’s trapped, resigning his fate to a dingy bathroom stall while the killer escapes. This was his chance to put Thomas down, but at least he’s seen fear in his eyes. Assurance that Thomas is not what he seems. 

Stepping back into the Green Room bar, Thomas sighs, glancing down at his phone to see an incoming message from Olivia. Even her words calm his nerves down by a small amount. 

Sorry to hear it’s going bad. Tell him you got a nasty stomach bug. Anything disgusting like that will get him off your back. Good luck. 

Okay, good. He can get out of here once the boss is pleased. Thomas shoots her a quick text, before treading deeper into the room. 

I owe you one. :)

It’s not hard to spot Tyrian’s entourage, taking up a corner of the bar is the red-haired comedian, sitting in a booth with Amber at his right side. She looks horribly uncomfortable, as Tyrian has a hand on her bare leg. Dexter is at the far end of the table, trying to avoid the snickers and jeers from Tyrian’s friends. 

“Thomas! What did you think of my show?” Tyrian has a shit-eating grin on his face, as he pulls another woman on his left closer, keeping all these pretty ladies here against their will. 

“It was really well done. You’re a natural!” Thomas smiles, then brings one hand to his stomach, faking an expression of pain. “Much as I’d love to stick around, something at lunch did not settle well with me. I should probably go home…” 

Tyrian has a look of disgust on his face and Amber is simply concerned at Thomas’s sudden illness. However, her expression shows desperation, as if she’s hoping he can bail her out of this sexual nightmare. 

“Yeah, I do not want to hear about your stomach problems. I’ll see you at work on Monday.” Tyrian simply waves Thomas off, not in a bad way, but trying to not think about horrible body functions at this time.

It’s at that moment, Thomas ponders giving Amber an excuse as well, but his decision is hindered by the recent events of the evening. His creepy bathroom stalker, who might return at any second. People might also think it’s weird if he leaves with a woman, especially if someone in this place suspects he’s a murderer. Alas, she’ll have to suffer. 

Thomas simply nods, then heads out the front door of the bar quickly, still faking pain in his stomach area. 

He manages to get to the parking lot in record time, immediately jumping into the car, sweating, and breathing heavily. Tonight is a goddamn whirlwind of affairs and Thomas can’t even process half the shit that happened. Thoughts can wait. The Plymouth Fury roars to life and Thomas carefully navigates the car onto the main road, taking the closest highest entrance he can find to get back to Liberty. 

All the while, his eyes glance at the rearview mirror, watching for anyone who might be following him. Thankfully, no one seems to be tailing his car, and when he gets back to the old farmhouse, he throws a leather cover over the vehicle quickly, getting inside just as fast. 

Thomas locks the front door, immediately slumping to the ground, both hands on his head. The darkness creeps from his shadow, familiar wisps of smoke surround his thin form, as his breathing grows deep. He’s here now, safe and sound, in the comfort of the night. But what does he do now? Is his identity at risk? 

"I like it here...I don't want..." He sighs, tossing the idea of leaving around in his head. It wouldn't be hard to pack up everything and get out of town, but where the hell would he go? No. Tonight was just a random string of affairs. A drunk weirdo with nothing better to do than to bring up 'urban myths'. But Thomas knows he can't trust his coworkers going forward, not if he wants to keep living this normal life for a bit longer. And that includes Olivia. 

The temperature of the room cools down, filling the hallway with dark and misty shadows. He's at a temporary state of peace here, surrounded by the curse he once sought to hate, simply embracing the night. Tomorrow will be better, for certain.

Chapter Text

Thomas is starting to question whether or not he should be here.

It’s been a chore dragging himself out of bed this week, heading into a work environment where the unknown awaits him. Ever since the incident at the improv club, he’s shut down on the inside, distancing himself from everyone at the funeral home, only talking when absolutely necessary.

Trust no one for now. Keep your head down low and do your job.

When Felicia managed to return his call the following morning after his failed work outing, she immediately advised those specific directions, followed by a personal inquiry: asking if Thomas wanted to be relocated out of Liberty at the safest opportunity. He told her that he’ll think about it, conflicted on the correct move to make, especially after everything positive in his new role thus far. The mystery of who’s chasing him does need to go away, either by deterring his follower by acting like a good human being or killing the stalker. Whichever comes first.

No one has seemed to notice his isolated behaviors, Dexter being around less and less, Amber and Tyrian going on with their business as usual. It’s Olivia, however, that picks up on his shift in mood rather quickly. On Monday she simply asks if he got over his ‘stomach bug’ without any issues and when he’s unable to reply with nothing more than a nod on the head, she lets up without pushing the issue.

He wanted to say more, but can she even be trusted? Olivia could easily be in on whatever scheme someone’s planning, given how she easily lured him into social outings before. Though they didn’t feel abnormal, he has to be cautious going forward, and a friendship with the mortician contradicts his given orders.

It isn’t until Thursday morning that he’s unable to avoid a conversation with Olivia, hearing her footsteps enter the crematorium while he’s placing the last burned ashes into a nearby black urn, taking care to not spill anything. She’s mindful of this, waiting until he’s secured the ceramic piece into the metal and glass storage case.

“How’s everything coming along?” She takes to his left side, looking into the cabinet with approval, as nothing seems to be done incorrectly. Thomas is a natural and a mistake would seem unlike him. “You’ve been doing excellent work this week.”

“The three corpses you needed me to cremate are done and ready for retrieval later.” Her compliment goes on deaf ears, treating it as a way to drop his guard, instead of a genuine act of kindness. “I’ll get the cremation machine turned off and everything cleaned up in the next few minutes…”

“I appreciate that Thomas, but I’d like a moment of your time if that’s okay.” She heads over to the other side of the room, feeling her skin get cold. Standing next to the cremation machine helps to warm her body, and much to her surprise, Thomas joins her hesitantly.

“What’s on your mind, Olivia?” He’s polite enough, but she can sense that he doesn’t want to talk, which seems abnormal. What happened to the chatty friend from last week? Why is he being so cold and elusive? She needs to know more but is respectful of his personal boundaries.

“I hope this doesn't come off as invasive but are you doing okay lately? Something seems off about your attitude.” She knows not to offer Thomas any excessive emotional reassurances, hoping that her concerned facial expression lets him know that she cares.

“I’m fine. Just haven’t been getting a lot of sleep lately.” Due to his increased paranoia, he’s keeping a gun under his pillow, not able to get any sort of consistent rest. “Don’t take this personally, but I haven’t exactly felt like socializing with anyone as of late.”

Olivia wants to contest the sleepless nights, knowing that it isn’t ‘fine’, but she has to process that last statement carefully. “I apologize then if I’ve been a nuisance then.” So much for not taking it personally.

They did have plans this weekend, but she won’t bring those up unless Thomas does. And without thinking, Olivia brings up their past conversation. “I’m sorry for letting you down. I’ve been unable to get anywhere on your curse as of late. A lot of my leads are turning up tails, but I’ll keep looking into it. I have someone reliable calling me back this morning, and I think it’ll work out...”

“It’s okay. The fact that you’re still searching says a lot.” He turns away from her, staring into the fiery furnace mere inches away. She could easily be looking into this to find evidence against him, secretly plotting his demise. Despite his oppressive aura as of late, Thomas is shocked that Olivia still tries to hold a conversation with him.

“If you’re upset at me for that reason, you’re allowed to be that way. I’m a grown adult and can take the feedback.” Odd. Thomas can tell her tone is shifting back to a self-defeating nature, ultimately fueled by his own attitude.

Stupid woman. She’s gone to bat for him a lot without asking for anything in return. He’s not mad at all. And yet, his words can’t convey even the slightest bit of empathy.

“I…” Damn. Thomas feels like he can trust Olivia, but that’s exactly the kind of novice mistake a killer would make currently. However, his pained look automatically tells her everything she needs to know.

“You don’t need to explain anything.” Olivia sighs, taking a step away from the cremation machine, turning her back to Thomas in the process. He’s upset or sad about something, and her self-confidence is wavering. Just as Thomas worries about betrayal, she’s equally concerned about him being upset at her. Even though no clear evidence suggests otherwise. “Just keep coming in and doing both of your jobs. I won’t bother you unless necessary.”

“Olivia, it’s not you...I have a lot of personal garbage to weed out right now.” Despite those words, her gaze lowers to the floor. If it wasn’t about her, then why won’t he talk about whatever’s on his mind honestly? She can’t believe that some part of his mood isn’t correlated to her failure at finding new information or her generally stoic disposition.

“It’s rather hard to tell what you’re thinking, Thomas. But I hope that if you have some doubts or feelings to work out, you can feel safe coming to me and discussing them.” When she doesn’t get an immediate response from Thomas, Olivia simply takes a deep breath, stepping out of the room quickly.

Out of the corner of her eye, she can see him turning off the furnace. Before she even gets halfway down the hall, she hears the crematorium door close, his footsteps behind hers. This shouldn’t hurt so damn much, but it feels like a knife is being jabbed into her back.

Instead of heading into the morgue, she veers off into the offices, not wanting to resume her work quite yet. Is Thomas upset at her? Did she say something by mistake to piss him off? It’s hard to tell if his aloof status is because of one person or many. He’s been this way since Monday, so maybe something did happen over the weekend.

Taking a seat at her desk, she rubs one hand along her temple, trying to process the recent conversation. Her hand reaches for the morning mug of hot chocolate, left on a warming plate, the ceramic material feels good against her fingertips. Cold things channel death, and in contrast, warmth is a reminder of life. She needs the latter right now.

“He’s not mad at me, something else is wrong. Thomas is not like Amber. Or Dexter. Or Tyrian.” The other three want her blood in different ways, and Olivia feels confident that Thomas isn’t going to judge her harshly. Heck, he doesn’t even know about her mistakes, which makes talking to him easier.

Holding the mug in her hands, she’s about to take a drink but stops upon seeing her cell phone buzzing on the desk. Putting down the drink, she taps the speakerphone option, mustering up a professional voice to the best of her ability.

“Olivia Moore, speaking.”

“Ah, Ms. Moore! I’m glad I was able to catch you at a good time. Dr. Ro, I’m one of the University of Missouri professors you reached out to last week.” The younger woman’s voice has a unique accent which perks Olivia’s attention right up. “About getting some additional information regarding genetic viruses.”

“Ah, yes, I’m glad that you called.” She leans forward in her chair, reaching for a nearby pen and pad of paper. All last week her prior contacts either had nothing to provide or simply declined her requests to speak. It didn’t help that she had to hide the topic of ‘curses’, working it like a biological illness instead. “Did you read over my request? Can you provide any information on the topic?”

“Unfortunately, your specifically requested data can’t be shared openly. In addition, after running a background check, the college feels we can’t provide you any help going forward.” Dr. Ro’s voice becomes sad, only angering Olivia further. “I’m sorry, Ms. Moore.”

“We had an agreement. You’re one of the last people who could help and…” She doesn't get the chance to say anything else, already being cut off by the college professor.

“I can’t do anything for you. However, there is a doctor in Kansas City who saw your inquiry and is more than happy to assist with this research project.” Olivia’s eyes go wide as she clutches the pen tightly in her hand, trying to maintain a calm attitude while talking.

“Please...I’m desperate for leads at this point. What’s her name and what steps do I need to take to arrange a meeting?” Her thumb hovers over the pen’s clicking mechanism, pushing down on the button over and over in anticipation.

“Ms. Gloria Van Amstel. She seemed very eager to offer support, especially once I gave her your name.” The pen is dropped back onto the desktop, Olivia’s hand covering her face quickly. This is a sick joke. Her ex-mother-in-law, Cordelia’s mom, is the only one who can help? There’s no way she can approach a woman who has obvious disdain towards her, especially since she broke off the engagement 5 years before.

“No. I’m not going to talk with her. I’ll find another way to get the data I seek.” Olivia sighs to herself, reaching for the disconnect button on the phone. “Thank you for the return call.”

“Well, if you change your mind, I’ll accept any callbacks before 5 pm today…” The mortician doesn't even wait for the final goodbye, hanging up the call instantly. First Thomas gives her trouble, and now she can’t even get a break on her research. Things don’t get much better, and she turns her head to the left, seeing Amber standing in the office doorway.

Well, fuck her life. Olivia just shrugs her shoulders in resignation. “Congratulations, you have more gossip on me now. If you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to work…” The hot chocolate is unimportant at the moment, as Olivia stands up out of her chair.

Normally, Amber would simply say good morning, but there’s been something on her mind as of late. The vibe around the funeral home is changing, both Dexter and Thomas seem forlorn and their only real interactions come from Olivia directly. It wouldn’t normally bother Amber this much, but she has seen what the mortician can do when upset.

“Olivia, we need to talk.” Amber doesn't budge from her spot, one hand on her hip confidently.

“What? Is Tyrian asking you to get some new info on me? Maybe you’re bored and want some rumors to spread around? I really don’t have anything to discuss with you.” This is shaping up to be one shitty Thursday morning, and Olivia’s patience has snapped completely. Amber just happens to be the unfortunate target.

“You really want to start the conversation like that? I’m actually trying to speak to you on a normal level and this is the way you greet me?” Amber frowns, locking the door behind her. “I was going to ask you what the deal is with everyone’s mood as of late, but you seem completely different as well.”

“I’m the same as I’ve always been. And if you’re talking about Dexter, whatever change he’s doing seems to be working. If he got a different job, great. We should let him go. Instead of chaining him down in a role that isn’t his to fill.” Olivia can see the fury growing in Amber’s eyes, but instead of shutting up, she presses on. “You should do the same if you’re displeased at the position you’re currently in.”

“I wonder why he’s looking for other work. Oh, it’s because you’re a really shitty mentor. Instead of telling Dexter the truth, you treat him like garbage." The gap between them closes, Amber stepping ever closer to Olivia’s desk, the other woman facing her directly, unwavering.

“And you coddle him like a child. I’d rather teach him what the real world is like, unlike your sugar-coated optimism.” It’s the kind of fight that shouldn’t be happening in the office, and Olivia secretly hopes Tyrian will show up to stop things. It doesn’t seem like it’ll happen. “He won’t get entangled in office politics if I force him to quit. Unlike you, who seems to enjoy sucking Tyrian’s dick for a 30 percent pay increase.”

Certainly, she could’ve held back on the last statement, but Olivia feels her anger rising. The color drops from Amber’s face, letting her know that she’s hit the right mark. Why ease up now though? It feels euphoric getting all her rage out on something or someone.

“I see the paperwork and finances from time to time.” Olivia crosses her hands over her chest confidently. “You never seemed like the type to sleep in his bed so willingly. Is the money that…?”

The slap comes out of nowhere. Olivia reels backward, her cheek feeling sore, the spot already turning red from irritation. At the moment, she’s more concerned about the mark left by Amber’s hand is visible, instead of the inflicted pain.

Looking up at her, Olivia can see the conflicting feelings running through the blond’s head. Sadness. Anger. The results are promising either way, if Amber’s emotionally reacting, then her words were the truth and Olivia knows she needs to face it. It’s a tough pill for anyone to swallow.

However, she’s not ready for the follow-up retort. Physical violence doesn’t faze her anymore, but Amber’s choice of words causes the confident mortician to mentally fold.

“No one likes you, Olivia. You’re a terrible person, and when you die...no one’s going to be there for you.”

Closing her eyes for a brief moment, she takes a deep breath, then approaches Amber once more. “You can say whatever vicious things are on your mind, take out your aggressions on me without abandon. If it gives you even a moment of reprieve, I’ll take it without hesitation.” Olivia solemnly nods her head. “But let me put this one on the record between us. I’m a very bad person who deserves to be alone and don't you ever forget it.”

Amber raises her hand into a striking position again, as her coworker simply stares back with dead grey eyes. Acceptance. Resolution. An unwavering heart that seeks something she can’t process.

“You’re doing this all on purpose. Driving people away, working for overtime with no pay, getting no appreciation from your peers.” Her hand lowers, not breaking her gaze. “Why, Olivia? Tell me why you’d walk such a destructive path?”

“It’s karma. You. Me. Dexter. Tyrian. We’re all here because we can’t escape our past transgressions.” Olivia simply runs one hand along her tie carefully. “But the difference is you can still get off the wheel. Dexter as well. But I’m pretty sure Tyrian and I are forever condemned to keep going in circles. We’re the worst of the worst, Amber.”

“You and Tyrian are…!” Not the same. That’s what she wants to say, but all the times she’s listened to Tyrian talk about Olivia and her past. All the rumors surrounding the mortician. “He was right?”

“He knows everything about me. And all of it is true.”

Amber freezes, feeling familiar tears drip down her face uncontrollably. Is she sad at learning the truth about Olivia? The reality that Dexter should be processing computer programs instead of bodies? Or the fact that she’d rather be a florist instead of being Tyrian’s sex object?

It’s a combination of all three, as she reaches for a nearby box of tissues, along with her makeup bag, knowing full well that her mascara is ruined. “I’ll leave you alone now…” She doesn’t want anyone catching her looking like this, leaving the office immediately, making an immediate beeline for the bathroom.

Olivia takes a deep breath, sitting back in her office chair, emotionally taxed from Amber’s impromptu conversation. Her fingers tap nervously against the chair arm, shifting to the desktop, before finally resting on her car keys. Taking them in one hand, she reaches down to the bottom drawer of her desk, leaving the keyring dangling from the lock.

“This is for the best…” Inside the drawer are a small supply of sealed alcohol bottles, chocolates, and other snacks to help her in troubling times. Today is one of those days, as she pulls a bottle of high-quality spiced rum out by its long amber neck. Seeing as her hot chocolate is still very warm, she pours a tablespoon or two into the mug, stirring it up with a nearby spoon.

Before she’s able to put the alcohol back into her secret stash, Olivia stares at the rum label carefully. A destructive gift to herself. It’s been a year since she last drank on the clock: a funeral for children will break even the strongest soul, but she waited until the end of the day to pour one out. And here she is again. The alluring scent of spices from the east seeping into her nose, welcoming her to a land of bliss.

Dull the emotions. Cut them cleanly at the bone. The negative thoughts dig and squirm, like a centipede burrowing into her brain. They hate you. Everyone wants you dead. You’ll always be alone. And you’re a murderer. No matter what you try to do...

“I can’t escape my fate...” This is the right medicine to take to ease the pain. Olivia brings the bottle to her lips, the sweet and spicy liquor flows down her throat with ease. The initial drink is the longest, placing the rum back onto the desk, taking a moment to allow the higher alcohol content to take control. Her body feels warm, thoughts slowing down to a crawl. Better, but still not good enough.

The bottle is in her hands one more time, taking small, calculated sips as her eyes glance down at the long-abandoned cell phone. No one in the science field trusts her. They all share the same disgusting outlook, no different from her so-called coworkers. And Thomas. He clearly has issues with her, something that she hasn’t figured out quite yet.

Her desktop clock ticks away slowly, another long drink passes before she caps the bottle, the slight state of inebriation bringing a familiar sense of control and calmness to her senses. Olivia takes a deep breath, about to drink more, but is surprised as an unpleasant and loud belch escapes her lips. An effective and crude reminder that she’s teetering on the edge of staying professional or becoming a drunkard.

The rum is quickly returned to her locked drawer, leaving only the cell phone remaining. She can fix this. The curse case needs to be seen through to the end, even if it means consulting her former mother-in-law. Thomas is the only person in years who’s truly looked at her like a normal human being, and damn, she will go to the ends of the earth for answers. To help him and to help herself.

Hitting the redial button on her phone, Dr. Ro’s accent-heavy voice greets her, surprised by the sudden follow-up. “Ms. Moore. I wasn’t expecting such a quick callback from you. Have you taken some time to think about the offer?”

“...Yes. Tell Ms. Van Amstel that I’ll meet on her terms, so long as she promises to give me the information I seek.” Olivia bridges both hands together, hovering over her desk in thought. She won’t be played for a fool.

“She’s not deceptive, I can assure you of that.” Olivia scoffs under her breath upon hearing those words. Doctor Ro has no idea what her crazy ex-mother-in-law is like. “Can she meet with you on Friday afternoon at The University of Kansas hospital? We'll have a staff member downstairs at check-in for you.”

“That’ll work for my schedule, yes. Put me down for that time. I’ll see Doctor Van Amstel then.” Olivia takes a deep breath, thanks Dr. Ro for her time, and ends the call without another thought.

Staring at the steam rising from her mug, Olivia stands and ignores the tempting call to drink. It's back to the morgue to continue heeding the inevitable call of death.

Silas has always been a fan of homely restaurants. The rich and famous can go eat in their 3 star Michelin restaurants after a successful day at the office, but he’ll take a warm cup of coffee and a slice of cherry pie over decadence any day of the week. Leaning his back into the red and white upholstered booth of the 1950s themed diner, he takes a moment to savor the exorbitant breakfast spread in front of him. Waffles and bacon. Perfectly cooked over-easy eggs. Hashbrowns and fresh black coffee. It’s easy a meal for two, but he’ll eat most of it with little difficulty.

The diner doorbell jingles, causing Silas to put down his forkful of hashbrowns, only to see Dexter approaching his table. Unlike his joyous attitude, the nerd looks tired and fatigued, wearing a button-up shirt decored with mathematic equations.

“Wow, Dex, did you sleep okay last night?” Silas doesn’t even care that’s he talking with his mouth half-full.

“No. And I can blame you for that. I’ve spent this entire week looking into the case you’ve put together regarding Thomas Carter.” Dexter waves away the incoming server, reaching for a nearby cup of black coffee. It isn’t tea, but he’ll drink the stuff in desperation.

“And?!? Are your parents going to put together a squad so we can take him down?” Silas leans forward, dropping the fork he was holding onto his plate in a noisy clatter.

“No! We don’t have any viable evidence to get a search warrant! I figured you of all people would know that!” Dexter’s eyes peer over his glasses at the supposed sheriff. “What? Did you think I could just convince people otherwise?”

“Well, yes. Your mom and dad…” Silas is about to say more, but Dexter’s hand comes down onto the Formica table hard.

“This isn’t about them! It’s you and me! We’re the ones looking for the Trivia Murder Party Killer…” Dexter calms down enough upon realizing his tone of voice is getting louder. And even though the diner is surprisingly quiet at this time of the morning, he doesn't want to risk someone listening in. “This isn’t just about not being able to get an arrest warrant. Thomas is different now. He’s on edge, being quieter than usual, obedient at all times.”

Oh. Silas slumps back into his seat, an unhealthy aura of confidence in his body language and his tone of voice.

“He’ll slip up.”

Dexter, already at his wits end, simply glares daggers at Silas.

“You could’ve waited for him to come out of the restroom that night at the comedy club. It’s not like he had anywhere to hide, staying in there would’ve been impossible.” Dexter pauses, giving Silas a moment to think about those words. What they mean. It doesn't take long for his partner to fire back in retaliation.

“Giving him a chance to mentally compose would’ve been a disaster! He’d come back out with an excuse, and as you saw, that’s exactly what happened.” Silas crosses both hands over his chest confidently. “By the time I got out of the bathroom, Thomas was already gone.”

“It’s because you’re too rash and reckless! Even if Thomas did come up with an excuse, one of us could’ve kept hitting him with questions in public. The very strategy you proposed, and yet, you went against the grain to try and corner him personally!” Dexter snaps back. “He left in a hurry because you pressured him to do so.”

Silas opens his mouth, but stops as their server arrives at the table, refilling mugs of coffee. Once the coast is clear, he’s speaking in a quiet voice, moving closer to Dexter.

“Think about this carefully. If he’s on edge right now, treading carefully at work, but he hasn’t left yet...Something is keeping him tied down to this place, whether it’s his pride in thinking he can blend in or another thing entirely. He could’ve left already but didn’t.” A pause, as Silas processes his next set of words carefully. “But if I find evidence that he’s the killer, then the police can come and arrest him immediately…”

Dexter blinks rapidly, staring into the black coffee mug. “How do you suggest we do that?”

A dark smile creeps onto Silas’s face. “We break into his house.”

Dexter bites the inside of his cheek, trying to process such a bold move. “It’s risky. He catches us, we’re done. There’s no chance in hell he’d stick around after that.”

“But if we get evidence, the game ends there.” Silas picks up his fork once more, shoveling another round of eggs into his mouth quickly. “He didn’t see my face at the club. The guy also lives in the middle of nowhere Missouri, so no one’s going to notice us there. I can provide the distraction, you get into the house undetected.”

“And if he’s hiding anything, it should be in the basement, where he’s conducted his games before.” Shit. He shouldn’t be agreeing with this, but if they don’t make a move, someone innocent could get hurt. Though the killer’s actions have frozen, for now, there’s no saying when the game show will return.

“Alright. Let’s do it. Saturday night, under the cover of darkness.” Dexter nods in agreement with the proposed plan.

Silas, never losing his confidence for a second, nudges the restaurant menu closer to Dexter. “Good. Now let us celebrate a job well done last week. Because everything up to this point has gotten us closer to the goal. We’re going to be heroes, Dexter. You and I.”

Heroes. Champions of justice.

Dexter smiles at the prospect of telling Olivia off, showing her that he’s capable. And to his parents who’ve doubted him the entire time. A brand new Dexter that no one will recognize, but someone the world will have to respect...

Chapter Text

Chapter 11:

My beacon's been moved under moon and star
Where am I to go now that I've gone too far?

       Golden Earring - Twilight Zone

The bumpy backroads of podunk, Missouri do nothing to calm Dexter’s nerves or to ease the sudden wave of nausea that’s come over him. It doesn’t help that he’s holding two warm pizzas in his lap, the scent of grease only agitating his senses further. 

“Are you doing okay over there?” Silas glances at Dexter while driving the rental Jeep across the rocky roads.

“Can you please unroll a window before I get sick…” Even speaking is testing his willpower, and thankfully, the sheriff obliges, rolling down both so the warm summer air can blow inward. 

“Hey, no vomiting in the car, please. It’s a rental, and I’d hate to pay the deposit on it.” Silas frowns, eyes still focused on the dark road ahead. “We’re going to park a few houses down from Thomas. I’m going to let you walk the rest of the way while I move into position.” 

“So you plan to distract him at the door while I break into the back entrance?” Dexter shifts the pizzas carefully into his lap. 

“Bingo! There’s a fanny pack in the seat behind you that has a few lockpicking tools, easy enough for you to use.” Silas reaches behind the chair, causing the vehicle to swerve off the road for a few seconds, before procuring the gray-colored bag, only to throw it into the vehicle’s floorboards. “All else fails, you could try to break a window quietly.”

It takes every bit of patience for Dexter not to scream at his companion’s reckless driving behaviors, especially on a dark road. Taking the tools with an unsteady hand, he nearly drops everything when Silas straightens the car once more. The vehicle slows to a snail’s pace, headlights turned off to conceal their getaway vehicle.

“Alright, straight ahead is the target. I’m going to get dressed up for the moment. When we park, before I walk up to the front door, you’ll slip out the back of the Jeep. Simple and easy.” Silas pulls out a large pillow and begins tucking it under the oversized shirt he’s wearing, giving off the illusion that he’s an older gentleman. A fake bald wig cap and gaudy gray mustache complete the disguise perfectly.

Dexter can hardly stifle his laughter at the sheer absurdity of the uniform, the mustard yellow pizza jacket, and hat doing little justice to the sheriff’s appearance. Silas gives him a tip of the brow.

“Well? Do I look like an Italian plumber turned pizza delivery guy?” 

“You look like Wario more than Mario.” For a second, Dexter forgets how serious this situation is, allowing his guard to drop momentarily. Maybe if they finish this task up fast enough, he can sneak in a few rounds of Geoguesser.

“I...have no idea who that is. I only remember the original characters. My age is showing.” Silas chuckles a little, then jingles the keys in his hand. “Alright. No time like the present to get this party started.”

“Right. And afterward, if everything goes well, we’ll have to celebrate. Catch you up on newer video games.” Dexter watches Silas extend a fisted hand, blinking in confusion. “Uh, what are you doing?”

“This is what the cool kids do, right? A symbol of victory and success?”

Dexter just raises his fist and bumps it against Silas’ knuckles. “You’re so weird. Let’s get this over with.”

---

The old house, normally illuminated by faux-electric candles, is dark this evening. While he could be baking something, redirecting his attention effectively, the very thought of cooking causes agitation to rise in Thomas’ heart. His grandmother comes to mind, and shortly after, Olivia: their prior conversations only sully his mood. This is what it must feel like to have all the things you love corrupted by corporate jobs.

With a warm mug of tea in his hand, Thomas’s footsteps lead him down into the basement, comforted by the sounds of creaking wood panels and lingering dust. It invokes long-forgotten feelings of nostalgia, history, and horror, reminders of his past life. He’s only come down here once, to unload the remnants of his old game show life into storage, not willing to destroy it all yet. 

Blatant evidence, like the Loser Wheel and his chalice collection, had to go elsewhere, stored under tarps and tucked away into cardboard boxes. The rest of the basement feels like an old storage unit, with shelves laden with canned goods, pickled vegetables, and other non-perishables. Unused furniture and electronics collect dust in one corner; boxes of family photographs, trinkets, and baubles rest carefully on the concrete floor. It’s the perfect place to hide a dead body or two if he could get away with it.

Against the far wall is a large workbench, with different tools strapped to the side via leather straps. An electric lamp sits in one corner, put together with brushed metal from the 1800s, oozing a yellow light onto the work surface. Thomas brings over a well-worn leather chair from one side, sitting down at the desk with renewed determination.

Old habits die hard, and spread out on the workbench is part of his newest pet project, small buckets full of fabric, buttons, and thick thread. A small notebook rests off to one side, and upon opening it, Thomas smiles at the drawn sketches depicting his newest voodoo doll ideas.

“These are going to look great once completed.” Thomas grins from ear to ear, picking up an unfinished purple doll, turning it carefully in his hand. 

He has found, through trial and error, that an effective voodoo doll requires a physical item of its bearer to host a soul. Without that connection, the rules of his game would be invalidated. The plus side of being everyone’s janitor is getting access to their personal spaces without question: a smudged glasses wipe swiped from Dexter’s bag, a half-used lip gloss stolen from Amber’s desk without question. Tyrian’s gaudy business card, which reeks of cologne and booze, is taken from a nearby drawer, neatly shoved into the back of his clown effigy.

Work complete, he sets the doll back down on his desk, attention diverted to a puzzling blue doll, missing all of its key features. No eyes, no mouth. A blank canvas for him to play with, however-

“What should I do with you, Ms. Moore? Your emblem has to be special, befitting of your intelligence.”

Thomas sighs, leaning back in his chair, tapping one hand against the desktop. Occasionally, he glances down at the cooling mug of tea, reminded of Olivia’s love of the beverage. The wisdom she’d share when they found themselves alone at her desk, chatting about death. Before he could ever present a question, she’d have an answer, as if peering into the future.

The doorbell rings once, stirring him from his thoughts.

Perhaps it’s a mistake? A trick of his mind? No. The bell goes off a second time, causing him to groan and stand up from his comfy work chair. The only person at this time of night who’d be visiting is one of Felicia’s many couriers, tasked with bringing food and deliveries. He’s only seen them in passing, fluttering wings of vampire bats flying back into the twilight sky. She’s normally a text away, informing him of such guests well in advance, but maybe the schedule got mixed up this time.

There’s a spring in his step as he walks upstairs, not even bothering to snap on any of the house lights, no need to do so if he’s just grabbing groceries from the front porch.

Thomas opens up the door, only to be surprised by a portly man in a pizza delivery outfit wearing a gaudy pair of aviator glasses. The sight causes him to step backward, one hand gripping the edge of the door tightly.

“Hello, sir! I have your order from the Red Baron Pizza Company!” Silas, faking an Italian accent, smiles widely at the serial killer. He watches and waits to see if Thomas remembers him from the comedy club, but his reaction is confusion, followed by a defensive reaction.

“I didn’t order a pizza. You can, uh...take it back. I’m not paying for this.” Thomas moves to shut the door fully, but Silas drops his foot in the way, denying the escape. 

“Oh? Well, it’s your lucky day then! We’re celebrating our 10th anniversary, so this order is on us!” Silas tries to force one of the pizza boxes into Thomas’s hands, his response fluctuating between annoyance and surprise.

“Stop! I don’t want your stupid food!” Thomas struggles to force the delivery boxes back into Silas’s hands, who continues the charade by pushing back. The officer briefly glances to his left, seeing Dexter’s shadow slip past the side of the house and towards the back door.

Instead of easing up, Sylas takes the pizza box and flips it out of Thomas’s hands, onto the floor with a satisfying thud, sending marinara everywhere. It takes every nerve in his body not to strangle the man in front of him: seeing his precious bunny slippers soaked in red only exacerbates his rage.

“Apologies, sir, let me help you with that.” Keeping his weight inside the front hallway, Silas tries not to smirk upon seeing the killer’s reaction.

“Get. Out.” For every attempt to push Silas back, Thomas is met with resistance, overly friendly ‘help’ that he could do without. As the squabble continues, he’s none the wiser to the plan unfolding.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Dexter carefully navigates the uneven terrain of the backyard, his shoes causing the wet grass to crackle under his feet. The noise goes completely uncontested, as he can still hear Silas arguing at the front of the house; their distraction is working as planned. As he approaches the back door, he turns the handle to find the door unlocked, making the tools worthless.

“Well, that’s…unexpected.” He whispers to himself.

The easy entry does nothing to alleviate his fears; pitch-black walls await him, leaving the lower floors in darkness. Using his hands for support, it’s pure luck that he stumbles upon the railing leading into the basement, confirming the pathway through a sudden dip in the staircase.

There’s no turning back now, not when the maw beckons to him. 

Faint glimmers of light echo from the foot of the staircase: he’s expecting the basement to be creepier, full of rats, spiders, human bones, and leftover remnants of human life. It instead resembles a time capsule, causing his eyebrow to furrow in thought.

“This house has to be at least a hundred years old…” Without thinking, Dexter runs a hand along a nearby shelf, kicking up a layer of dust, which only irritates his nose further. 

Stepping deeper inside, he stops a few feet from the wooden workbench, squinting his eyes to see further ahead. Of course, the killer would leave his workspace with an eerie ambiance, a simple electric lamp lighting the way. Dexter’s heart starts to race upon seeing the strangely crafted dolls on the desk, and without thinking, he reaches for a gray one wearing glasses. 

It looks like him. 

“What the hell…” Fear takes over, as he drops the doll back onto the table, stepping backward in shock. A black sludge emerges from the stuffed effigy for a few seconds, then disappears into a puff of smoke. 

He should grab it; take it as evidence, but the sound of static causes Dexter to pause. The radio on the desk hums to life, glowing an eerie shade of neon green, as the dial twists and turns, searching for the perfect frequency. Out of the corner of his eye, another electronic device lights up, an old television pulled straight from the 1950s. Everything on the bulb-generated screen is static, full of jagged grey and black lines. 

“How can this be? It’s not plugged in.” Dexter picks up the TV plug, shaking the cord a few times in his hand, before dropping it to the concrete floor. 

There’s no time for him to ponder the unknown; the television’s fuzzy distortion clears up to reveal two silhouetted people, a male and a female. Peering into the curved glass, his breath hitches in the back of his throat.

“Mom. Dad.”

“That’s our boy, huh? Top of his class. Getting all A’s in college.” Dexter flinches upon hearing his mother’s compassionate words echoing from the television set speakers.

“I’ll say. I thought he’d be a failure, but he pulled through! Think of his future!  He’s going to be chief of police! Or head of the Forensic Science department!” A shudder rolls down his spine in reaction to his father’s commanding tone.

“But you cheated. You paid someone to do your homework. To take your exams.”

Dexter spins on one heel to look at the radio. That voice. It’s his.

“You seem surprised. How long are you going to deny the truth? That you’re living a lie?”

The TV makes a clicking noise, rapidly spinning through the channels, past images flashing before his eyes. One frame stops on him slipping a white money-filled envelope to another student, who nods in approval. The next shows him turning in a doctored scantron sheet. No memory is safe; all of his dishonesty lies bare.

“I’m doing what’s best for everyone!”

“But are you happy? Is this really who you’re meant to be?”

“Shut up! I know who I am! You’re just a figment of my imagination!”

Dexter can hear his shadow’s sadistic laughter as the radio rattles. Every electronic device in the vicinity begins violently exploding with ‘life’: flashing multicolored lights, open ports oozing with a malicious black slime that smells of sugar. The overwhelming assault on his senses is enough to instill a fight-or-flight response, stumbling back up the wooden stairs, nearly tripping twice in the process. 

He’s out of breath once the cellar door shuts behind him, dashing for the back door without concern about the noise he’s making. Being trapped in a claustrophobic basement is one fear, but seeing and hearing things from the past is beyond his level of comprehension. Forcing his legs to run deeper into the fields behind the house, Dexter only stops once he’s traveled approximately two blocks, hiding behind a child-sized playhouse.

The inevitable happens: he gags and vomits, panic setting in as his heart continues to beat like a drum. A few minutes pass, allowing a break in the cycle before his body repeats the previous actions.

Once his hand stops shaking, he sends a one-word text to Silas.

DONE

The front porch is in shambles: wasted food on every stone surface, and not even the guardian lion statue is safe from a spaghetti wig. For every instance Thomas moves forward, Silas carefully moves back just enough to psych him out. Apologies are cutting it now; the killer has found a nearby water hose and is no longer threatening to spray him with water. Strangulation seems more in the cards now.

“Leave! You’re ruining everything!”

“But don’t you want to hear about our extended pizza loyalty rewards club? After 12 stamps, you’ll get a collectible Bubs mug!”

“I’m going to file a complaint with your company and then I’ll-”

Kill. You.

Thomas shakes his head and points the hose at Silas, fighting off his internal instincts, finger on the trigger. In that moment of weakness, Siles feels his phone vibrate, not even needing to pull it out of his pocket.

“Nice chatting with you, sir!”

He bolts like a deer that’s just been caught in headlights, Thomas about to give chase, but stops once he sees how fast the truck pulls out of the driveway, leaving behind skid marks.

“...What the hell was that?”

The hose drops to his feet in a clatter. Part of him wants to chase, but the second he looks down and examines all of the red sauce, it ultimately calms his nerves. A reverse psychosis, no reason to kill a useless pizza man and blow his cover, not when everything has been going okay. The mess gets a solemn shake of his head, sighing audibly.

“Well, at least this is easier to clean than blood stains on a vintage Chinese rug.”

Going back inside for cleaning supplies, he doesn’t even notice the slightly ajar back door.

Dexter, dragging along with every inch of strength he has, sticks close to the edge of the dirt road. He’s not expecting to be found for a while, so far off the original path, where no house lights can guide him to safety. To see a pair of dimmed headlights approach from behind is equally terrifying and reassuring all at once. He turns around, greeted by Silas’s truck instead of a fancy, murderous car.

“Going my way?” Silas smiles as he unrolls the window, parking the car with half the street blocked.

“Shut up.” With the last of his strength, Dexter flings open the door and takes a seat, ignoring his seatbelt. “Drive.”

There’s silence between the two men as the truck begins its return trip into the city. At the next stop sign, Silas puts the vehicle back into park.

“What happened?”

“You won’t believe it.”

“Try me.”

Dexter takes off his glasses and sets them on the dashboard.

“That house is haunted. I saw ghosts of my mom and dad. They were saying things and I…” He breaks down crying. “I didn’t get any evidence!”

Silas takes his hands off the wheel of the car slowly, staring into the night without a hint of emotion. In that moment, Dexter hopes he’ll understand why everything went the way it did: how he had no control over the situation. But there’s a change in the air, like something violent has been uncorked, a malice that’s been stewing for a very long time.

Silas will understand, right? They’re friends, companions fighting the noble cause.

“Get out of the truck.”

“...What?”

“Don’t make me repeat myself. I thought I’d finally make some progress, but instead, you fucked it up.” There’s anger coursing through each word, causing Silas’s body to shake, muscles tightening. “Every time I get close to this fucking killer, someone else messes it up. I can only rely on myself.”

“But…We can try again!” Dexter’s tears turn from soft sobs to torrential pumps of salty water, dripping onto the floor of the truck. “Please!”

“You don’t mean that. You’re a nerd and a coward. Get. Lost.”

Dexter catches sight of Silas’s leg twitching, and before he can give the sheriff time to kick him out, he opens the door after grabbing his glasses. Stumbling back onto the gravel path, the second he’s out of range, the truck bolts past the stop sign and into the horizon.

Left in the middle of nowhere, all he can do is cry into the night, faint stars drifting overhead.

Olivia would kill to see the Kansas City skyline tonight, getting the chance to relax at an outdoor bar with an Old Fashioned, taking in some classic barbecue. The beautiful hues of blue, pink, and orange are replaced with white hospital walls and beeping machines - a poor substitute for classic jazz. It’s a place of torture.

While she normally respects the sciences, she prefers to do that on her timetable, and what should’ve been a quick visit has devolved into something less fortunate.

“She’s doing this intentionally.” Olivia mumbles under her breath, eyes glancing around the room at the remaining patients waiting to be seen. So many people have come and gone before her in 5 hours. “Maybe this isn’t worth it. Thomas would understand…”

Cordelia’s family, the Van Amstels, controls more elements of Kansas City than she’d like to admit. From courtrooms to condominiums, their hands are in every cookie jar. Gloria Van Amstel, mother to her former lover, sits on every medical board or designates a placeholder in her image. With a whim of her fingers, she can make any doctor or nurse do as she wishes, including delaying scheduled meetings.

Hell has no fury like a scorned woman.

Standing up from her chair to pace the room, she catches sight of the nurses near their work station, who immediately turn their gaze away. Some start whispering among themselves, others act as if she’s not even there. Their attitude initially bothered Olivia, but after a while, she stopped caring: no point in contemplating the opinions of others.

Tucked away in one corner of the medical wing is an assortment of vending machines, full of typical sugary snacks and sodas. None of them appeals to Olivia, despite her body demanding food through subtle aches and pains. Instead, a discarded magazine on a nearby recliner gets her attention, so she claims it instead. Anything legible is welcome at this point in the night, something to keep her brain from going stagnant.

On the cover of Psychology Today is a balding old man wearing a black and pink suit, sporting the boldest of titles: Dr. Jan Peskin - A legacy remembered.

Oh, Olivia remembers him from her time in college, the guy with a Ph.D. in Behavioral Psychology who was the topic of many discussions. He had interesting dissertations, but died while showing off a new zeppelin model. The experts told him it wouldn’t fly, but-

She’s about to read more, leaning against the closest wall, but out of the corner of her eye, she spots one of the younger nurses in training getting closer. Someone new to the shift rotation, unaware of why she’s lingering around the waiting room like a ghost.

“Is there something I can help you with?”

Olivia throws the magazine back onto the chair, trying to keep her tone of voice in check. “I’m here to see your supervisor. Dr. Gloria Van Amstel.”

“Oh..” The nurse twitches where she stands. “She doesn’t have any appointments with the general public scheduled today.”

“Of course she doesn’t. Listen, either you take me to her office, or I file a complaint with the medical board. Pick your poison.” Because Olivia has a sinking suspicion that this nurse values the job too much to throw it away so easily.

There’s a moment of hesitation before the other woman starts walking to the back of the hospital ward, gesturing for Olivia to follow. None of the remaining medical staff seems to pay them any mind, focusing on caring for patients in various stages of pain, closed off from the rest of the world by cream curtains. A branching path away from the action conceals a series of office spaces, breakrooms for staff, and a large elevator door at the end.

The nurse swipes her badge against a panel near the elevator, causing the door to open.

“Do you need-”

“No. I’ve been here before.” Olivia walks by without saying another word, pushing the close button immediately behind her. 

The floor above isn’t used for any medical purposes, reserved for doctors of the highest title. Even her footsteps leave little noise behind on the tile, stopping in her tracks upon reaching the bronze placard.

Stepping into the room, Olivia is greeted by no one, just a decadent display of wealth and power. The floor tiles and windows are covered by Hawaiian rugs and curtains, giving off a tropical vibe. A large aquarium adorns the back wall as an iconic piece, but Olivia isn’t interested in exotic fish; her attention is pulled to a panoramic photo on the leftmost wall. 

There’s something hauntingly beautiful about the photography: a large tundra covered with tall, snow-covered pine trees. In the foreground is an abandoned town, buildings falling apart, decaying wood, and broken glass jutting up from the frozen grounds. There’s no signature or nameplate to let her know who the artist is. Without thinking, Olivia reaches out with her hand to touch the canvas.

“Do you like it?” 

“Art is subjective and hinges on the audience viewing it.” One might take Olivia’s response as evading the question, but Gloria finds it amusing. She gestures to the desk with a sweeping motion of one hand, only continuing the conversation once they’ve both been seated.

“There’s a beautiful history behind the piece. Aaravi, the artist, took this photo after a serial killer ravaged the small town where she was staying in Canada. No survivors but her. The aftermath caused her to hide, surfacing only to put out new pieces under an alias.” Gloria feigns disappointment with a shrug of her shoulders, gazing squarely at Olivia, waiting for a reaction that doesn’t come. Not a single one-liner or banter about the irrelevance of the topic. “You’re still fond of a good quality Cabernet Sauvignon, correct?”

Olivia’s eyebrows raise from the painting and meet with Gloria’s, brimming with curiosity and confusion alike. Medical practitioners weren’t exactly known for their drinking habits while on the clock, and she knows Gloria runs a tight ship. The surprise is evident on her face when a bottle of Opus One is procured from below Gloria’s desk, along with two elegantly carved wine glasses.

“Don’t be so shocked.” At the sudden opening of the wine bottle or the drink itself. Gloria pours with a hand tempered from years of surgeries and parties, not letting a drop hit the floor. “You’re my guest, after all, and it would be in poor taste not to offer you something after waiting for so long.”

“I’d prefer it if you cut right to the point. You have the data I’m seeking.” She doesn’t move towards the chair or the glass of wine.

“Entertain me for a bit, Liv.” The wine glass is slid halfway across the desk by the base, and it takes every muscle in Olivia’s arm not to reach for it instantly. “Just this one glass, though. I know you’d like to marry the bottle, but we’re professionals here.”

With careful footsteps, Olivia approaches the desk, taking the stem of the wine glass between three fingers. The alcohol does wonders at distracting her from saying anything that would get her kicked out, taking a moment to sniff the wine wordlessly, swirling the glass to examine its color and fluidity. Pleased with what her senses are experiencing, she sips, in contrast to Gloria’s faster pace of consumption.

“What do you have for me?” Olivia takes a deep breath, finally taking a seat in the elegant leather chair opposite her foe. 

“Everything and nothing. A few questions for you before we begin. Nothing about your personal life, but the research you’re conducting. A bit of a test to see where your knowledge lies.” Gloria begins to refill her glass, not missing a beat. “Have you heard about kegare?”

It takes a moment for Olivia to run the question through the database of her mind, years of reading dissertations and medical reports, to provide an answer. “In Japan, kegare is a term that describes the spiritual impurity of the soul.”

“Correct. It’s frowned upon for scientists to apply spiritual and religious connotations to our work, but kegare has been mentioned in a few circles for the past few years. Do you know why?”

Reluctantly, Olivia shakes her head and retreats to her wine in shame. “No.”

There’s a smug smile on Gloria’s face, sadistic in appearance, something no doctor should ever show their clientele. “Because physical evidence has been found. At first, kegare was written off as intangible, but some autopsy specialists have found it in skin, organs, and blood. The color of kegare is different each time, but the few reported instances list it as being black.”

“Like water.” The comment slips out of Olivia’s mouth, unfortunately caught by her companion. 

“Consistency-wise, no. But we have labeled it as a liquid due to its chemical properties.” 

“That would imply someone has gotten a sample.”

“And died for it.”

Olivia pauses mid-sip, not at the shock of hearing about death, but at the casual way Gloria presents it to her. “What was the cause of death?” 

Gloria laughs and, despite her previous threat, offers to refill Olivia’s wine glass. The mortician places her free hand over the top, not wanting the liquid to be used as a distraction.

“Name any physiological or psychological disease. Kegare can produce it all.” 

“That’s a global pandemic waiting to happen. Billions would die in the blink of an eye.” Chalk it up to overexposure to death, but Olivia seems unfazed by an inevitable ending. 

“Thankfully, the nature of kegare doesn’t spread like a virus. It starts in the brain, psychologically driven, before infecting the host with a plethora of physical ailments. Researching kegare is strictly taboo to keep it under control.” For someone entrenched in saving lives, Olivia sees a weakness in Gloria’s armor, as if she doesn’t care about the casualties, so long as things resemble peace.

“It’s for the best. Sometimes a lack of information is necessary to keep the population safe.”  

“True. That’s why your request set off a red flag. Tell me, are you interacting with someone that’s infected with kegare?” Gloria leans forward, hands bridged together in an ominous pose. “And if so, what are you hoping to accomplish by studying them?” 

“The topic of mental well-being came up while talking with a family the other day, so I’m just trying to get answers for their sake.” Olivia peers into the nearly empty basin of her glass, unaware that she’s been subconsciously drinking faster than usual. “You don’t need to know anything else beyond that.”

“I disagree. You are an enigma that demands solving.” Gloria gestures to the wine bottle, even pushing it within inches of Olivia’s fingertips. When she goes to take it, however, things take a turn. Gloria’s hand grabs Olivia's wrist tightly, digging her fingernails into the skin, almost drawing blood.

“What did I say before? One. Drink.” Gloria releases her grip as quickly as she overtook Olivia, leaving the other woman to stare at her skin with little concern about the injury. “I don’t care what happens to you after this moment. All that matters to me is you getting your karma for being an asshole to my daughter.”

“...So that’s why you’re helping me. Because I could die in the process, or at best, become so traumatized that I come running back to the Van Amstel family for forgiveness?” Olivia smirks callously, raising her hand and twisting her wrist to reveal spots of blood. She runs a finger through the red, then rubs the substance deep into the grain of the desk. “Forgive my language, but your family can politely fuck right off. I’ll take death over your family line. Keep the information. I don’t want it with these caveats.”

Before stepping into the hospital, Olivia had a feeling this was all a big ruse: an excuse for the Van Amstels to take more unnecessary cracks at her. She’d chalk it up to Thomas’ general demeanor as of late, his refreshing outlook on life, for her recent display of defiance.

Gloria stands, removing a USB thumb drive from her breast pocket, throwing it towards Olivia without warning, who catches it with a free hand.

“I can’t wait to watch you burn then.”

“You’re not the only one.” Olivia examines the device, slipping it into the inner pocket of her suit jacket for safekeeping.

Gloria smiles one last time before exiting the way she came in. The office door shuts loudly, leaving only the bubbling noises from the aquarium to comfort Olivia.

Reaching down for the bottle of Opus One, she almost puts the tip of the bottle to her lips, but forgoes tactless consumption in favor of refilling her glass. There is a temporary moment of peace brought on by the liquor, humming lightly under her breath in approval, before walking back to the art piece. 

Another sip, quietly running one hand against the glass frame, before Olivia sighs deeply. Her gaze shifts to the water tank, suddenly seeing the fish scurry into the artificial reef. 

“‘How long are you going to hide behind the curtain, Cordelia?” 

The blue fabric shakes to life, stepping out from the shadows dressed in a fitting black and blue power suit: her former love awaits. In the dim light of the room, her skin shimmers like gemstones unearthed from the ocean floor, scales that no normal human will be able to see or appreciate.

“When did you notice, Liv?” Cordelia’s voice croons in her ear like a siren, but the parlor trick is nothing new. She’s unfazed by the dulcet tones. Olivia steps over to the neon blue waters of the aquarium, glass held tightly in her hand.

“The second I entered the office. You have a pheromone that’s impossible to hide.” She drinks once more, only stopping when Cordelia’s pace quickens.

“I came here to talk some sense into you.” Hiding both hands in her pockets, Olivia fails to notice the tension in Cordelia’s stance, the way she’s tightening up like an electric eel.

“Didn’t agree with mommy’s terms to help me with my scientific research?” It’s a foolish mistake of Olivia’s to look down at the half-full glass, noticing only seconds later in the reflection that the conversation has shifted drastically.

A slip in her defenses. Too late. Glass shatters against the tile floor, followed by a splash of wine. 

Olivia finds herself suddenly pinned against the aquarium tank, Cordelia’s left hand gripping tightly around her necktie, turning it into a makeshift noose. Nails replaced by elongated claws, teeth sharpened beyond a human’s usual canines.

“You walked away twice now. This time, I’m getting answers. I want to know what weird suicidal shit you're planning!” 

“Looks like your dominant side hasn’t gone away these past few years.” Olivia coughs as the tie thickens around her neck, blood flowing onto her white collar from where Cordelia’s claws have cut into her skin. “No, thank you. Pry the answers out of my cold, dead body.”

Seething rage is one way to describe Cordelia’s eyes, but Olivia can see the tears welling up moments before being forced into a kiss. Her body pressed up against the aquarium, cracking glass echoing in her ears, fish swimming away out of desperation. In days of old, the pursuit of science was paid for in ethics, the destruction of body and mind. She’ll get out of it alive, no doubt, but Olivia has to wonder when the cost of knowledge isn’t worth the effort.  

Maybe next time she’ll think about the consequences. 

Thomas almost misses Olivia’s phone call amidst running water, soaking the last of his front door mats in a slurry of foamy tub water turned red. The joyous melodies of Oingo Bongo snap him out of his cleaning mode, fully realizing who is calling based on the custom ringtone. A quick tap on the screen and he’s genuinely happy to be speaking with her. 

“Liv…” He wants to say more, but she’s quick to cut him off, noticeably angry.

“Thomas. Give me a moment of your time. Also, never call me Liv again.”

“‘Uh…okay?” There’s enough background noise on Olivia’s end to distract Thomas, curiosity getting the better of him. “Where are you right now?”

“At the University of Kansas Hospital.” It’s the chaos of exiting through the front door, past the emergency room, that has her struggling to hold onto her phone. “Listen, I-”

“...Why did you drive to Kansas? Isn’t it three hours away?”

Olivia pauses mere inches from a nearby revolving door, coldly responding. “No. The hospital is in Kansas City.”

“So…Missouri, then?” His stupidity isn’t meant to annoy her, but it’s having that effect. “Because no one goes to Kansas willingly.”

“Stop. Where I’m at is irrelevant.” An agitated hospital visitor looks at Olivia with scorn, as if she’s committed a crime by blocking the exit. Instead of waiting on the revolving doors, she hastily rushes off the side, pushing open the manual door with force. “I have information that I need to share with you.”

“Really?! What did you-”

“No. Not over the phone or at work. You’re going to meet me at my place tomorrow to go over this.”

“I can stop by tonight.” Thomas looks down at the sauce-stained rug in his bathtub and frowns: anything to get away from this mess.

“I’ve had a very long day and wouldn’t be great company. Just plan on stopping by in the afternoon. It’ll give me time to decompress.” He’s quiet on the other end of the line, leaving her enough of a gap to take command of the call. “Got it?”

“Clear as crystal Pepsi.”

“Good. See you then.” Her finger hovers over the disconnect button. “And for the record, Kansas is trash.”

Beep.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

“You’re late with your report, Tyrian.”

Knowing he’s being recorded doesn’t deter his swagger, leaning back into his office chair, hands shoved behind his head. No normal human being would stay in a funeral home this late, but if the ambience is right, then you take it. One of the more expensive funeral parlor lamps lights a corner of his space, a relaxing pink that highlights all of his good sides. Too bad his female business partner is phoning in instead of being present.

“Calm down. Everything is going swimmingly here. All of your affairs have been addressed on time.”

“And your employees? Are you keeping them on a short leash?”

“Always. They’re under my little thumb.” He chuckles lightly, glancing over at a woman who’s passed out on a nearby sofa, licking his lips. “As if they have anywhere to run, given their past mistakes.”

“Good. We’ll be sending you another batch shortly. The money’s already wired to your account.”

“Excellent. It’s a pleasure doing business with you as always, Madam.” The phone line disconnects, and Tyrian stands, dusting off his maroon suit with one hand. “I appreciate you giving me a parting gift from your last job.”

He unzips his slacks and begins walking towards the couch. This line of work is annoying, but she rewards him so well for obedience-

Nights like these are the best.

Chapter Text

Walkin' down the street, keepin' hush, hush on the scene

No one knows you, such a mystery

Opposite of fun 'til you turn the power on

Then you come out turnin' up the heat

Dancing with your hands, turning strangers into ‘friends’

Touch the keys, please, and unlock my heart

You're free to be a freak, change your picture every week

Show the camera you're a superstar

Cash Cash --- Party in Your Bedroom

-----

It’s impossible to recall the last time Olivia’s invited anyone into her house, let alone a co-worker; however, the recent circumstances have demanded such an arrangement. Discussing scientific research that hasn’t even made public news in a public place is a recipe for disaster; she would rather take her chances in a setting completely under her control.

One hand rubs the side of her neck gently, trying to conceal the bandages with the top of her black turtleneck sweater. The mental stress from yesterday has been moderately quelled through late-night beer and ramen, but there’s no easy way to hide the physical damage done. She knows Thomas is keen-eyed; he’ll see the injury and proceed with a million questions: to combat this, she has a plan.

The kitchen is full of delectable snacks, most of which she would personally avoid: Girl Scout Cookies, La Croix, Raincoast Crisps. The last one is more in line with her tea-drinking habits. Everything is nicely laid out on tea snack trays, plates at the ready, all prepared for company. While she’s pouring some hot water into a mug with some rooibos tea leaves, the doorbell rings, right on time. Punctuality is welcome, and she leaves the drink to steep while heading to the front door. 

Thomas greets her at the entrance, dressed in a casual pink and blue plaid shirt and jeans, shoulder bag held in one free hand.

“Hey there, Ms. Moore.” Joyful as always, he nods to her.

She keeps a hand on the door and gestures for him to come in. “Didn’t I tell you before that you don’t have to address me so formally outside of work?”

“Maybe? I was worried after calling you Liv last night.” He quickly takes off his shoes and puts them in the nearby shoe rack, carefully looking over her entrance foyer and subsequent living room. The modern black and gray aesthetic fits Olivia’s personality perfectly. She could blend into the wall and he’d hardly notice.

“Don’t worry about it. Yesterday is behind us.” Her steps lead into the kitchen, heading straight for the abandoned mug of tea. Thomas follows her for the first few seconds, then gasps in shock.

“What’s all this?” His bag goes on the nearby counter hastily, and he walks over to the snack trays, eyes wide.

“You’re not the only one who observes what others eat. Check out the fridge as well.” She steps out of the way, raising the tea mug to her lips, but not drinking just yet. It’s a ruse to hide her smile. The offer is taken, door thrown back gently, his head already peeking into the fridge…

“Where did you find Pamplemousse La Croix?”

“Trade secrets.” Olivia chuckles softly.

Thomas grabs a can, back straightening up, turning to face Olivia. She can’t hide her amusement at the situation, sipping her tea as a cover-up.

“How sneaky of you.” He shuts the door and heads back over to the snack tray, loading up a place of Samoas and Crisps. “Well played.”

“And now we’re even for the Red Velvet Cake.” She takes her own plate, filled to the brim with different sugary sweets. “Finish getting your snacks, and we’ll go upstairs to my office.”

“Can do. Also, your place is pretty stylish. How long have you been here?” Thomas lets Olivia lead the way to the staircase. His gaze is not on her back, but everywhere else, examining every little detail of her space. 

“5 years, give or take.” Down the hall, she stops in front of two large, black wooden sliding doors, pulling them apart with one hand, managing to balance her plate at the same time.

“When you get a space to yourself, it’s always the best…” Thomas’s words trail off once he gets a glimpse into the office, a fantastical world unworthy of a simple title. 

On the left and right walls are large bookshelves filled with an assortment of tomes: science, biology, and even a hint of supernatural grimoires. Peppered in between those spaces are shelves full of ghost Pokémon plush. He recognized the popular ones: Gengar, Mimikyu, but she also had obscure creatures like Cofagrigus and Hisuian Zoroark among the roster. 

The ceiling opens into a wide arch, and chandeliers hang above; the windows are all covered with black curtains and blinds. He expects Olivia to walk over to the dual-monitor computer desk off to the right, but she heads for the center of the room instead. Two large black chairs and a matching coffee table await, along with a luxurious chaise longue. She must get a lot of reading and work done on that particular piece of furniture. 

Olivia’s already seated in one of the chairs by the time he’s done gawking at her place, quickly placing snacks on the table to avoid making a mess. At her side is another small table where her own drink resides, swapping it out for a wireless computer keyboard and TV remote.

“Nothing you see here gets out of this house. From my personal preferences to the data I’m about to show you. Understood?” Olivia is being serious now, Thomas can tell, but when he nods back in affirmation, he catches sight of it: a large bandage against the edges of her neck. That injury wasn’t present when they left work on Friday night. He’ll stay quiet for now.

“Got it. The secret stays with us.” He has to reach for a cookie, choosing to nibble on it instead of saying something about her neck or the Pokémon. Even the computer, which he thought they would be seated in front of-

She clicks a button on the remote, and a large projector display comes down from the ceiling, accompanied by the dimming of the chandelier lights. Her desktop display is transferred over to the screen in high definition.

“Thomas. I’m going to ask you a few questions for scientific reasons. Answer me honestly, please.” She averts her gaze to him one last time while using the keyboard’s touchpad to navigate into an open Word document. Olivia’s request reminds Thomas of the funeral arrangement conferences she arranges. The specific tone of voice she uses, her connotation, and note-taking, makes him sit up subconsciously. No objections either, just quietly sipping on his La Croix and munching on some cookies.

“Do you know what La Mancha Negra or Kegare is?”

“No idea.” Not knowing the answer is frustrating, and he shrugs his shoulders in resignation.

“Have you ever gone through any major health issues that required hospitalization?” Olivia keeps her hands on the keyboard, typing his answers onto the screen.

“No.”

“What about psychologist sessions? Mental health treatment?” 

“Does this line of questioning count?”

Olivia takes her hands off the board, looking at Thomas with narrow eyes. “Not including this conversation.”

“Then no.” Saying no enough times, even as a lie, is going to drive him crazy. “Olivia, what are you getting at?”

“The bottom of your dilemma, the curse.” She minimizes the Word document and pulls up a slideshow within seconds. “Thomas. What I’m about to share with you is….jarring. At any time, you can tell me to stop.”

“Have a little faith. I can handle the weird.” He motions to the projector screen. “Carry on.”

Olivia learns back in her chair, micromanaging her space by taking the mug of tea in one hand, while the other controls the keyboard touchpad and bindings. 

“Let's start by going back in time to the end of World War 2, 1945. Soldiers who were stationed close to Japan returned home to their respective countries. Months later, they began complaining of headaches, nausea, hallucinations, and mood shifts.” The images on her screen show the story, hospitals treating the wounded in body and mind. “Eventually, they became better, but some people disappeared or outright died.”

“...A side effect of the atomic bombs?” He knows that much about the war, but is also hesitant to speak up while Olivia is talking. The timbre of her voice is oddly hypnotizing, something he could listen to for hours on end. 

“That was the original diagnosis, along with post-traumatic stress disorder. But no official source of the trouble ever came to pass, shuffled among pre-existing health disorders.” She clicks to another tab, and a new image appears: one of a car submerged in some sort of black ooze.

“Jumping forward to 1974, the United Kingdom and the United States sent a group of scientists to Venezuela to investigate a substance known as La Mancha Negra. They were 6 months behind South Korea and China, who were also looking into it.”

Thomas cuts her off politely, raising one hand like a kid in school. “1974 is close to the end of the Vietnam War.” 

“Got it in one.” Olivia points confidently in his direction, then takes another sip of tea to refresh her voice. “The expedition was to try and weaponize La Mancha Negra. It failed miserably. Most people in the group died, and when they did get back, they all went crazy.” 

“Like in 1945.”

“Exactly.”

A normal history lesson like this would bore him, but the information she’s laid out is becoming increasingly personal. Thomas never had family in either war, but he heard tales from his grandmother that the bloodline went back to the Civil War, their family being used to stir up political unrest. The fact that Olivia started her discovery with World War 1 tells him that maybe record-keeping wasn’t as efficient in the past.

Time marches onward. Olivia has already replaced the disco era with the end of the 90s.

“If we go to 1999, things escalate again in Japan. An astrological event, The Grand Cross, takes place…”

“And let me guess, people went psychotic?”

“Nothing that’s been recorded. There was a rumor going around that if you called your own cell phone, a masked man called ‘Joker’ would appear and kill anyone on request.” That’s not the details she wants to focus on, gesturing to the screen where a blurry photo of containment tubes filled with La Mancha Negra.

The image shouldn’t cause his blood to run cold, but Thomas finds himself shivering, trying to downplay his feelings via misdirection.

“1999 was a fucked up year for the United States as well. Y2K worries, Nostradamus predicting the end of the world…” He could go on, but Olivia isn't disavowing his words, which only increases the tension.

“Japan was trying to erase the world via a prophecy. They found a way to remove Kegare from the body, converting it into Le Mancha Negra. With enough negative elements in the same spot, a cataclysm would trigger, dragons would arise and destroy everything except for Japan.”

Thomas blinks at her words, ignoring the end of the world comment. “It can be removed?” 

“Not without consequence. Your brain and body would stop functioning, becoming a walking corpse.” Olivia knows where he’s going next, and just to double down on debunking the idea of purging his sins- “All known technology for the procedure is gone as well. This photo is the only evidence that survived beyond written testimonies.”

“Everything is cryptic, removed from history with intent.” He glances at Olivia, concerned. “Why do you think that’s the case?”

“Because the world is still experimenting with Kegare and La Mancha Negra.”

“...What?”

“While we haven’t had an extreme world calamity, our human nature has a penchant for destruction. Every conflict with another country, internal collapses within our economy, and mental health breakdowns of an unprecedented scale.” She looks up at the screen once more, and Thomas follows her gaze, only to be greeted by images of dead bodies: an eclectic combination of suicide and homicide cases. “People want to harness that power, through whatever means necessary.”

Olivia offers him the TV remote so he can examine the photographs at his own pace. Something about death allows him to speak freely and without fear. 

“Why do you think people are tapping into this substance?”

“Based on these scientific reports, when someone or something forces La Macha Negra onto a human being, one of two things will happen: they live or they die. Those who survive gain immeasurable wealth and knowledge. Rumor has it that’s why we have questionable people in positions of power.”

Thomas is quiet, flipping through the images, reminiscing on his own murderous rampages. It’s all a blur until the bathtub flickers into view: an archaic tub of European ancestry, adorned with the lifeless body of a feminine model. La Mancha Negra drips from her mouth.

He notices the black liquid and freezes in place. A long-forgotten memory surfaces in the back of his mind, eyes closing to reflect on the moment. This is all too familiar-

“It’s time for your monthly session, son.”

The baths used to be fun, full of colorful salts and bombs, squeaky duck armies would litter the scene, but something in the dynamic shifted ages ago. The shattered innocence of his childhood was bound to die sooner or later.

“Get in.” The black liquid, which resembles oil, sloshes against the sides of the hotel tub from an unseen force. Clothes on, Thomas steps into the bath-

He’s struggling to breathe. Dear old Dad has his hands pushing down onto his shoulders, making it impossible for him to get his head above the ‘water.’ Despite his best efforts to kick free, nothing helps. This isn’t the first time he’s been ‘baptized’, nor the last.

His body is trembling; barely breathing, not even processing that Olivia is calling to him or that he stood up from his chair unannounced.

“Thomas.”

When he doesn’t respond, her response is to try to take the remote back, but her actions are halted: the image of a large hotel pool comes into view, drowning bodies floating upon still waters. Was that slide there before? When she turns to face Thomas, the screen turns itself off without warning.

“Thomas.”

“Olivia, I…” He turns to face her, tears dripping down the sides of his face. “I didn’t get a choice.”

“You don’t have to explain anything right now. Just sit down and get your breathing and pulse under control.” Her hands reach out to take his arm, guiding him back to the chair carefully. “Do you want some water?”

“Yes, please.” It’s a blessing that he had a medical emergency in front of a competent funeral director, but also, the situation is embarrassing as Hell. His brain can’t process her touch. 

“Okay. Just stay seated until I get back.” Her steps are quick, covering ground at a good pace, until-

“I survived it. My Dad forcefully exposed me to La Mancha Negra multiple times.”

Shit. Olivia’s calm demeanor comes under fire; she has to repress and reveal the right emotions to keep the situation under control. 

“Thomas. I acknowledge what you’re saying, but in this current moment, your health is my primary concern. We can go over the details later.” She gives him one last pat on his shoulder in reassurance before heading to the door,

Rushing down the stairs would only increase her chances of having an accident, so Olivia takes her time, one hand on the railing, until the lower floor comes into view. When she enters the kitchen, it’s not just a bottle of water she grabs, but a small makeup bag full of pill bottles. She’ll have to ask probing questions to determine if an anti-nausea or headache medication will alleviate Thomas’s pain.

Right before she exits the room, a loud thump echoes in the kitchen, causing her to spin on one heel, looking back to see a sketchbook on the floor. It slipped out of the bag Thomas brought in, most likely when he rushed to drop everything for a snack. Leaving it there won’t do any good, but when she reaches down to pick it up…

The drawing is of a vast tundra, with pine trees in the distance, and burned houses littering the snowy landscape. A scene that embodies death and winter, two harmonious elements, a sight few have seen.

Olivia blinks a second time. It’s the same piece she just saw last night in Gloria’s office, with small differences attributed to the change in genre: photo to sketch. First, voodoo dolls, and now an abandoned town where murders took place? 

She should look at the remaining pages to quell her curiosity, but the sound of a chair moving in her office causes her to recoil. The book is quickly scooped up and put back in Thomas’s bag before she rushes up the stairs, nearly dropping the water once. Inside her office, Thomas has taken it upon himself to lie on her chaise longue, surrounded by a plethora of Pokémon, his arms wrapped tightly around her giant Dragapult plush.

“I told you not to move.” She frowns, walking over to the sofa.

“Your house is so nice, though. I’m also kidnapping your plush dragon.” He pets the Dragapult gently on the head, not realizing that Olivia is giving him a death stare.

“Not in your life. Sit up. I have medication for you.” He’s like a child again, completely different from the mindset she just saw a few minutes ago. “How’s your head feeling?”

“Kinda fuzzy and dizzy. Like I’m a few minutes away from throwing up.”

“I don’t need that on the rugs, so tell me in advance if you start getting sick.” She shoves the anti-nausea medication into his open palm, water following suit. “Take two of these pills and drink slowly.”

“Of course, Doctor Moore.” He follows her directions carefully, and when his vision starts to stabilize, he can almost see his grandmother's silhouette behind Olivia.

“I never got the certification.” She gets off her knees and walks back to her chair, taking a welcome seat once more. He can lie there for as long as he wants, but she’s not bending down a second longer. “Take as much time as you need to stabilize.”

“You’re like my MeeMaw.” He wants to sit up and face her, but the medicine hasn’t kicked in quite yet. “Always taking care of people in your own unique way.”

“Oh, that doesn’t sound normal at all…”

“It’s not a bad thing, Olivia. You’re wise for your years: pragmatic, knowledgeable, empathetic. You showcase death to scare people away, but that makes you approachable to a different crowd.” Thomas chuckles a little under his breath. “A mentor.”

“That title, I can enjoy a bit more.” If he’s got the energy to banter with her, she suspects his moment of weakness was just that. A fleeting instance where too much data became a detriment. “Think you’ve got the energy to do a bit of walking?”

“Well, whatever you gave me is working pretty quickly, so-”

“Let’s go down into the basement. I think you could use a palate cleanser.”

Thomas forgets to breathe for a moment, his mind flickering to all his wonderful kills in the lower decks and his own current workshop back at the farmhouse. He doesn’t rush to his feet, but has the energy to burn.

“What’s down there?”

“My torture dungeon.” No. Way. Thomas is hoping she’s not lying, that there’s a sliver of truth in those words, but the way she’s smiling tells all. “Actually, it’s something better. Come on.”

Like a moth to flame, he’s back on her heels again, past the kitchen entrance and into the narrow corridor stairway. The lights on the walls are replicas of candles, hidden behind brass ornaments, matching well with the wooden floorboards. Her interior decor has changed drastically, confusing the everloving shit out of Thomas. It all comes to a peak at the bottom.

She’s running a speakeasy. The walls are covered in black and red wallpaper, a skull and lily flower pattern, with dozens of different band posters framed on the wall. One entire section of the room is a fully stocked bar, serving alcohol and milkshakes, adorned with crimson stools. Cherry red and black must be the theme, because every chair and sofa in the room follows that pattern. 

“East Coast interior designs. New York, the inspiration?” He has to know where she came up with the layout.

“Boston, actually. My grandparents owned a lot of bars right next to Fenway, so when I was growing up, they let me hang out there. I built this space to honor their memory.”

“I like it a lot.”

Olivia steps behind the bar, pulling out her phone and activating a Bluetooth sound system, breathing life into a retro 1950s jukebox with rainbow neon lights. She’s behind the bar mixing herself a drink, head nodding lightly to the tune, while he explores the basement further. Every little detail is scrutinized: her poster selections of different music bands, framed vinyl records, shelves full of trading card binders-

Wait. Reverse that. He takes a step back from the nearby sofa to re-examine a set of shelves against the wall, perfectly aligned and filled with colored leather binders. Each one has a different symbol burned onto the spine; some he doesn’t recognize, but others are easily remembered: Base Set. Fossil. Jungle. Every classic and modern Pokémon card series is here and complete. 

He can’t resist pulling out a binder for Legendary Collection, admiring all the foil Pokémon cards of his youth, the ones looted from corpses. These are completely free of blood stains, highlighting their beauty even further. He’s so distracted that Olivia can sneak up from behind, cocktail in one hand.

“So, does this place pass your pop-culture litmus test?”

“Yes!” He closes the binder carefully, not wanting to ruin her collection. “It’s exactly what I needed to feel better. Something nostalgic…”

He turns to look at the hanging TV and the mounted shelves surrounding it, full of trophies and photos, memories of the past. The dates are only for two years, and he doesn’t know too much about tournament lingo, but placement in Regionals and National-level events has to be a big deal. Following the timeline of photos, he notices subtle changes in Olivia’s demeanor: how she distances herself from other people, eyes facing forward with a forced smile.  He suspects it’s because Cordelia is present.

While assumptions often lead to mistakes, he can’t help but squint at the bandage on Olivia’s neck once more, before letting his inner thoughts take over.

“She made you pay in blood for the information.”

Olivia doesn’t immediately lash out in retaliation, her gaze on the photograph wall.

“It’s not the first time.”

He should be excited at the sight of bodily harm or sad that he wasn’t the one to inflict it, but there’s a rising anger in Thomas that he can’t explain. It’s never been in his nature to care about others, only to drag them along for a ride-

Olivia walks away, leaving her back vulnerable, but Thomas stops her with one statement.

“We’ve both been abused by someone who loved us. And if it’s fucked you up as badly as it did to me, then-” He takes a deep breath, not letting his gaze leave her, but also not brave enough to reach out for physical contact. “Maybe the two of us need each other’s company.”

“...I’m only using you for scientific purposes.” She turns around to face him, only to be greeted by Thomas’ smirk and laughter to follow.

“And I’m taking advantage of your hospitality and funeral expertise. But that’s a lie, and we both know it.” He walks back over to her shelf of Pokémon, pulling a small box off the shelf. “Here. I’ll prove it to you.”

“Oh? What are you getting at?” She sips at her drink while watching him with a keen eye.

“Play me in a game of Pokémon.” Quiz shows. Nerd cultures. Thomas feels confident he can give her a challenge; he’s a host with a reputation on the line. 

“...Not for free. Let’s make a friendly wager.” She doesn’t show any excitement, but the way her steps accelerate to the shelf, not letting her drink spill, tells Thomas everything. The hook is deep in her skin, and the only way to remove it now is to entertain his whims. 

“Sure thing. What’s the mortician’s poison of choice?” Thomas takes a seat in front of the modular gaming table made of Padauk wood, still clutching one of Olivia’s decks with care.

“A best of 5. If you win, I’ll disclose every detail about my relationship with Cordelia, including last night’s affairs.” She glances at the box in his hand, noting the year engraving, before removing a similarly dated box, cloaked in purple and black colors.

“And if I fail?” 

“You tell me about your Dad.”

Thomas can feel the color draining from his face. “Can’t we negotiate something else?”

“I think that’s a fair exchange. But if you’re so worried, I can sweeten the stakes a little bit. The loser buys dinner.” Olivia joins him at the table, right in time to catch Thomas going through an emotional whirlwind. He’s seen what places she picks to eat out, and coupled with her healthy appetite, the pain it’ll inflict on his wallet might not be worth it. 

“I’ll keep the risks in mind.” Confidence not completely dissuaded, he watches her begin shuffling the sleeved deck with careful precision. “Shall we begin?”

“Yes, let’s get started.” 

He’s lost. 

If this were a game Thomas hosted under his own terms and conditions, Olivia would’ve stabbed him in the heart 5 times over. The first one was a gentle prick, like a teaching lesson, telling him not to play with sharp objects. Every concurrent test afterwards is subject to swift punishment if the previous lessons were disregarded.

When he forfeited the first three games, Olivia mercifully changed the rules: take one game against her and she’d spill the tea. He was still under obligation to pay for dinner: expensive take-out sushi and steamed bao buns, and while the bill was atrocious, he couldn’t deny the food was amazing as always. No amount of fancy cuisine or chilled sake eases the wound of defeat, staring across the table at his companion, whose mind is still deep in the metaphorical tank.

“If I concede now, you won't laugh?”

“No. I think you’ve suffered enough.” 

Thomas calmly places his hand on the table and, in a rare display of defiance, flips Olivia off. “I hate you so much right now.”

“Don’t lie. Despite the circumstances, you looked happy the entire time. Dare I say, even laughing on occasion?” 

“That was a fluke…” It’s exactly what his grandmother would say when losing a game of dominoes with her, patting his shoulder and offering some consolation. Olivia doesn’t show any physical affection, not in her nature, standing up from her chair instead.

“Denying a part of yourself is pointless.” And to keep him from mulling on the topic- “Come on. I’ll make you a consolation milkshake.”

She’s watched him the entire evening, only partaking in one alcoholic drink, so the natural conclusion is that he has a sweet tooth. Whatever negative feelings he was harboring from the loss is swapped out for a positive second-place prize.

“I really thought I had a chance against you.” Thomas follows at her heels, taking a seat on one of the barstools while Olivia slips into the back. All of the different colored-bottled are beautiful to look at, but his companion is reaching into a hidden freezer underneath the bar top. 

“Preference for the evening? Or are you leaving it up to me?”

“Something with vanilla. After that, you can work your wacky science on me.”

Olivia laughs at the idea of being compared to an alchemist; cooking and chemistry share lots of similar parallels. Instead of embalming fluid, she puts butterscotch flavoring in the blender. Drying compound agents for wounds are now gentle spoonfuls of cinnamon and broken pie crusts. The ice cream goes in last, blended into a fine mixture, before half of the contents are poured into a tall, metal glass.  

Topped with a black straw, she slides the milkshake his way.

“Go ahead.” 

Pride shouldn’t get in the way; she attempts to feign interest elsewhere instead of watching Thomas’ initial reaction. Taking the remaining half of the milkshake for herself, her fingers idly twirl the straw, until-

“It’s the best milkshake I’ve ever had.” 

She’s shocked, head jolting upward to see him dabbing away a tear from his eye. “I just copied a pie recipe online and converted it.”

“Give yourself a little credit!” There’s no hint of malice in his expression, honest truths laid bare before them both. “So, what are you going to name it?”

“...I don’t know. Everyone and everything that ends up on my table already has an identity.” Maybe it’s time she tries this drink he’s so eager to hype up, sipping quietly. Thomas is right: the subtle flavors and crust harmonize together beautifully, invoking feelings of nostalgia. 

Neither of them speaks for a moment, sharing glances from across the bar top, in mutual agreement that the drink is special. Feelings of kinship, better days that’ve gone by, are brought back to the forefront by ice cream. Thomas stops focusing on the chill creeping down his spine, ears tuned into the jukebox’s lamenting tune. 

“I don't know the answers

Tomorrow's still unknown

But I can make this promise

You won't be alone.”

 “...Home.” 

Olivia shoots him a confused stare, head tilting to one side. “Why?”

“Because…” Thomas moves the glass just a hair away so he can peer into her gray eyes, hands bridged together in thought. “It just feels right. Like we’re allowed to be ourselves here.”

She wants to contradict his statement with empirical evidence; his illogical answer lacks rhyme or reason. Yet, another drink confirms her lingering suspicion; the name doesn’t need an explanation. It weakens her inhibitions without prompting.

“...Life wasn’t always like this. Years ago, Cordelia and I got along, but she was jealous of my career path, the successes that came overnight. What she never realized is that I was putting in a lot of work behind the curtain.”

Thomas doesn’t urge her to go on, allowing Olivia those moments of reflection at her own pace.

“When death comes calling, you can lose everything: family, friends, career paths. Death prepares you for these things, but even so-” She trails off, looking down at the bar top. Thomas takes the lead, not to push for more details, but to disclose his own secrets.

“All my family and friends are gone. Not metaphorically speaking.” Most are a drop in the bucket, simple losses, proof that life simply goes on. “My Mom and Grandma were the hardest. Both died in drowning accidents, in the same pool and everything. So I get where you’re coming from, Olivia. I really do.”  

Olivia straightens her back and brings her gaze upward once more. She can tell Thomas is angry, but instead of lashing out, he is using his words. Apologizing for his loss is useless, as sometimes the best answer is just listening.

“I’m confident my Dad killed them.” Thomas grips the glass tightly. “You mentioned that stuff from before, La Mancha Negra. My entire family’s been exposed to it since birth, like water. So it’s only a matter of time before I die, or worse, become a spitting image of my father.”

Normal people would be afraid. Normal people would flee in terror if someone like Thomas were sitting before them, a person who might lose control. She doesn't flinch. Death can’t scare its own patrons.

“People exposed to La Mancha Negra don’t become like the person who influenced them.” She reaches underneath the bar and procures a pen and pad, drawing a set of scales. “If you learn to control this part of yourself, anything is possible.” 

“And how do I do that?” Her sketch of a heart and feather on equal sides reminds him of Egyptian history: the weight of one’s sins and life lived, in the face of Anubis.

“By doing what you’re doing right now. Facing the past, understanding how it shaped you.” Olivia’s perfect cursive handwriting starts above the feather: family dead, change of career. “And now, you need to look to the future and ask: what will make you happy?”

Murder. That’s the universal answer, right? But when Thomas reviews how La Mancha Negra and Kegare work, he’s at an impasse. Olivia nudges him along.

“Kansas City is a big place.” 

“I want to do something fun.” Thomas blurts out.

“What’s your definition of fun?” 

Touche. Answering his statement with more questions seems fitting, as his confidence starts to peak.

“Going out to trivia nights. Go-karting. Miniature Golf. Cosmic Bowling.” 

“Competition in an entertaining environment. Go on.” Olivia’s pen quickly notes every important detail, Thomas nearly popping out of his seat.

“I want to go out to more amazing restaurants and bakeries. See a stage play at Starlight Theater.”

“Maybe check out City Market? Or the National Museum of Toys and Miniatures?” She’ll jot it down; things can always be crossed out.

“Yes! I want to actually live life instead of being cooped up in one space and role!” Thomas looks down at her documentation, then back to her. “...You haven’t put anything down for yourself?” 

“Because this is your journey. I’m just a facilitator.” 

Thomas takes the notepad from her in one swift motion, pen stolen in the same fashion. Olivia blinks, looking at her empty hand, then to Thomas. 

“Start answering my questions, Olivia Moore.”

She chuckles under her breath, leaning against the back of the bar, nursing her milkshake in solemn contemplation. “Okay.”

“What do you want?” 

Too vague. She shrugs her shoulders and gives him the most direct answer possible: “Nothing.”

Thomas looks down at the paper, realizing the error in his line of questioning. “Sneaky. Let me rephrase: you’ve lived in Kansas City a while. What things in the city make you happy?” 

“Jazz clubs. There’s a handful of nice ones on the Country Club Plaza.”

Wow. Thomas knew her tastes would go opposite of his, but starting in the wrong musical category makes it rough to find a common ground.

“Anything else?”

“Carolyn’s Pumpkin Patch.” 

Thomas furrows his brows. “It’s currently June.”

“Never too early to get into the Fall season.” She’s trying to trick him with that one, knowing full well pumpkin season doesn’t kick in until September, but now he gets her inner persona. 

“Next you’ll say the Crown Center Ice Terrace.” 

“It was on my list, yes.” 

“Rude. You’re only giving me options that can’t be applied in the summer.” 

“I’m not going to give you the answers so easily.” She’s smirking, lips twisted around the straw. “Life’s adventures are like peering into a kaleidoscope, ever changing and shifting.”

Thomas perks up, something about her choice of words and his limited knowledge of Kansas City comes together in a homogenous mess. A familiar one, as he reaches for his pocketed phone, only for Olivia to shake her head-

“No cheating.”

“...I’ll be right back.” Thomas knows a game when he sees one, heading over to the coffee table adjacent to the TV. She has a variety of books laid out, including historical accounts of funeral homes, tea blends from around the world, and landmarks from Kansas City. He picks up the latter, jogging back to the bar, careful not to spill milkshake on the cover.

She watches with curiosity as he reads the index, then starts flipping pages forward. When he finds what he’s looking for, Thomas glances up at her with a dumbfounded expression.

“I thought it was just a random word. But this…” A children’s art space? He doesn’t need to say it out loud. “This isn’t what I was expecting.”

“Well, for starters, don’t assume I want to go there because I’m some sicko adult. It was the first place I met and worked with my first boss in the medical industry, before Tyrian.” Olivia crosses her hands over her chest.

“Context, please?”

“We hosted a panel there for the children. Got them excited about art and science.” One of her prouder moments, as evidenced by her high regard for the event.

“So you do have a heart.” Thomas smiles, but quickly turns to a frown. “You’re still cheating, though. Kaleidescope can only be accessed by children and their parents. Every option you’ve presented so far can't be done.” 

“Which is exactly why we should be focusing on your interests.”

Thomas takes up the pen once more, pointing it menacingly at Olivia. “Keep this up, and I'll stab your carotid artery.”

“I'm so proud of your accurate anatomical threat.” She leans over the bar top, pointing at their combined notes. “Now that the treatment is established, I want to know when you’d like to begin the administration.”

Normal people would be disturbed by her wording, the desensitized nature of a woman who tries to hide her emotions behind science. Thomas calls her bluff confidently.

“Tuesday at noon. We’re cutting out of work early.”

“No. Tyrian will have my head-” Her expression is cold, with a hint of fear.

“You’re scared of the repercussions.” He stands up, slowly pacing alongside the edge of the bar, his eyes preoccupied by the smoothed and finished wood surface. Never once does his eyes leave her, though. “How can you claim to understand death when you have such a weak grip on life?”

Thomas waits for a reaction, seeing Olivia’s hands rest firmly at her sides, fingers visibly tensing up. She’s staring, but he gets the feeling her gaze passes through him, aimed at the back wall. 

When Olivia leaves the comfort of the back bar without saying a word, Thomas has to wonder what’s going on in her brain; he can’t shake the feeling that she’s hiding something. 

“I see the game you’re playing here.”

“Oh? And what are you going to do about it?”

Instead of greeting him with a slap to the face or some catty reaction that would devalue her professionalism, she instead extends her hand to him in acceptance. 

“I’ll go along with it. Count me in.”

With an excited grip, he shakes her hand to seal the deal. 

He knew the so-called ‘alliance’ would eventually end, but Dexter never guessed it would take place on a back road in the middle of nowhere. The Uber home wasn't cheap; his parents' credit card covered that emergency expense. His outward appearance from that night was sickly, so much so that his Mom rushed him straight to bed. 

The following day wasn't much better, covered in blankets, his temperature fluctuated between fever and chills. No appetite in the slightest, but living in the shower for hours on end felt safe, cleansing his body and mind for a little while. No amount of scientific podcasts or white noise can remove the nagging voices from the back of his mind. 

Useless. Weak. A cheater. He's all of those things and then some.

“Dexter.” 

He nearly jumps out of his blanket fortress upon hearing his Mom speak up outside the bedroom door.

“I’m leaving your favorite meal outside the door: chicken and dumplings with a piece of chocolate cake. Let me know if you need any medicine, okay?”

There’s no reply from her son, and her subsequent footsteps away finally give Dexter a moment to breathe. He sits up in bed, but has no intention of opening the door quite yet until she’s fully gone. It takes energy to put his feet down and to move forward, until he feels tension in his lungs, coughing into the sleeves of his hoodie. 

It’s just a summer cold, flu at worst, Dexter tells himself as he reaches for the plate of food. Skipping ‘work’ in the past would be unheard of, but now that he’s actually showing signs of illness, maybe Tyrian and Olivia will let him off the hook. His parents seem merciful enough to this plight and will give him time.

But the question is, what should he do with this temporary freedom? 

Part of him wants to get back on the job search, look for work in computers, along with student housing, so that he can escape the crushing pressure of home. Apologizing to Silas also crosses his mind, but Dexter stares down at the bowl of food and musters a laugh.

No. Things were already bad before the sheriff entered his life, and he’s ready to move on.

Picking up the fork, he eats quietly, speckles of black dripping from his mouth into the bowl.

Silas hasn't left his hotel room since the following night, staring up at the pastel ceiling with a lit cigarette in his mouth. Working with enough police and firefighters teaches you all the darker skills, from disabling a hotel smoke detector to unlocking child-proof windows. There’s no one here to tell him to be a good boy, either. A win-win situation all around.

Moments like these are the hardest; failure has never settled well on his mind, and nostalgia tends to take over. He misses everything about home: Corydon, the small business, every person knowing their neighbor, his wife- 

Silas takes a deep drag off the cigarette. Emma. God, what would she say if she saw him in this condition, living in a hotel room and surviving on Walmart sandwiches? She’d scold him and tell him to shave and shower, take him to their favorite bar for burgers afterward. They’d laugh with all the locals, talk about sports or the weather-

None of that matters now. Everything ended the day the Trivia Murder Party Killer stormed into town and turned everyone into murderers, setting everything ablaze afterward. It’s not fair that Thomas Carter gets to walk around and live a frivolous lifestyle while he scrapes by. 

He’s about to doze off, eyes half-lidded, but something pulls him from the depths of sleep-

“You’re looking at things from the wrong perspective.” 

“...Emma?!” Silas jumps from the hotel bed, nearly dropping the cigarette onto the carpeted floor. From the smoke, he can picture his dead wife, her long flowing hair and narrow form.

“Don’t be shocked, my love. Your actions brought me back into existence.” 

“...You’re dead. I’m just drunk and hallucinating things.” Despite his claims, the smoke from his cigarette turns gray, drifting across the hotel room, leading to the desk space. 

“I’ll be whatever you want me to be. And in this moment, you want an answer…”

Silas walks over to the desk and stares down, paperwork and files greeting him, but the smoke hovers over one particular stack. Staring back at him is a police report and mugshot for Olivia Moore.

“You’ve been going about things too directly. Cut off the source of his happiness and then-”

“He’ll reveal himself to save his ‘friend’. It’s perfect.” Silas rubs the cigarette into her photo, then moves to pick up a nearby revolver. He’ll be patient this time, watch and wait for the perfect moment to strike. Taking a seat, he begins disassembling the firearm to clean it, reinvigorated…

And completely unaware that his cigarette is leaving a black, liquid-like stain on the paper.

End Chapter 12

Chapter Text

Spotify Playlist for each character

‘Kodachrome

They give us those nice bright colors

Give us the greens of summers

Makes you think all the world's a sunny day, oh yeah’

                                               Paul Simon - Kodachrome

Thomas’ Photo:

A half-recovered note found in a bank storage box  - Dated 19XX

When my boss got called to the historic hotel bordering Washington and Oregon, I could tell he wasn’t excited about the job. We’d heard rumors that the place was haunted, with most locals attributing it to the saying, “Keep Oregon weird.” 

He only took the job after seeing the contractual payment of $50,000.

My role was simple: carry his photography gear and stay quiet.

The hotel’s matriarch seemed nice enough over the phone, but in person, the family was cold as ice. It was a family portrait: Grandmother, Mother, Father, and Son. You could definitely tell there was some tension in the parlor room. Oddly enough, our work was swift and easy: we were back on the road to Tacoma in less than half a day.

Two weeks later, my boss vanished. The night before his disappearance, I saw him staring into the twilight sky, part of his right eye’s cornea turning a shade of black. He thanked me for everything, then walked into the forests of the Pacific Northwest, never to be seen again. 

His $50,000 paycheck came to me while the police were gathering a search party. And while I don’t believe in the supernatural, I know a sign when I see it. 

Photography work is booming in Hawaii. I think I’ll get a one-way flight in the morning.

Tyrian’s photo:

Purchased from a comedian’s outlet sale: The Improv Journal - Winter 2011 issue

Taken on the Venetians’ performance stage, Tyrian is hoisting up a crystal trophy, surrounded by the members of the Fakin' It’s. Confetti falls from the ceiling as the group celebrates a well-deserved victory.

Get out your clown shoes and squeaky rubber ducks, because it’s time to review the annual winter comedy festival!

Taking place in Las Vegas, Nevada, the entertainment capital of the world, it’s finally time to reveal the acts who will get contracts with the casinos! 

Improv has always been a fan favorite, and this year, Vegas hosted a competition for short and long form performances. A new group has come into the limelight for the shorts: it’s the Fakin’ It’s. The group is led by Tyrian Disour, a veteran of the stage, who has performed in different comedy acts over the years. Due to his leadership, the team is $20,000 richer and has won the right to perform comedy at The Hawaii Comedy Festival next season.

We were lucky enough to sit down and ask Tyrian a few questions during his post-celebration:

Improv Journal - “Mr. Disour, we want to know how you’ve become so successful in improv these last few years.”

Tyrian - “Well, it’s all about putting in the hard work. Knowing your audience and how to tickle their fancy.” 

Improv Journal - “And your future in this industry?” 

Tyrian - “I’m here to heal people with comedy. It’s my calling, whether that’s done with the Fakin’ It’s or independently.

Improv Journal - “Are you implying a breakup is on the horizon?”

Tyrian -  “Enough about the show, this is the afterparty. I’m more than willing to do an off-the-record interview, if you’d like.”

Tyrian Disour recently signed a residency with other comedians to perform in a variety show at the MGM Grand. Tickets are expected to go on sale in Spring 2012.

Amber’s Photo: 

Pulled the University of Missouri’s newspaper database: Columbia Daily Tribune - March 2012

Taken in the Mizzou Botanic Garden, Amber is happily surrounded by a pack of dogs, all vying for her attention. From different sizes and breeds, it’s clear she loves them all.

How does a person take two opposite hobbies and meld them into one cohesive concept? Ask Amber Sonora, a specialist in dog adoptions through the power of flower. Amber has spent the last 4 years of her life assembling floral arrangements for bi-quarterly donation drives for animal shelters in Columbia. Her work was featured on multiple floats for the University of Mizzou, and also along the campus grounds.

When requesting this interview in person, Amber asked that we only focus on particular facts. 

“Please do not make this article about me. I want to bring attention to the dogs in shelters all over the city. The parks that need our donations to keep functioning.” 

Taking us on a walk with the dogs highlights her care for the city. 

“It’s not just Columbia we should be thinking about, but the world we live in. After all, we only get one life. We should be doing our best with it.”

Olivia’s Photo:

A printed article from Pokémon’s website (located via Wayback Machine / edited per request) - June 2012

The photo is in front of a large white and blue banner, with Pikachu faces in different emoticon styles on the fabric. Someone wearing a chibi Pikachu costume is in the middle, dividing the Van Amstel Family and their plus one. On the left are Gloria and Cordelia, both trying to hide displeasure for different reasons. The right is Arno, Cordelia’s father, who has a hand on Olivia’s shoulder while smiling brightly. Olivia has a soft smile as well, holding a large trophy, genuinely happy in the moment. Regarding what is a mystery to everyone else.

Over 2,000 trainers converged on Indianapolis, Indiana, this weekend for a chance to be crowned the US Nationals champion. After three long days of play, the Top 4 Masters Division players have earned their seats at the World Championships in August.

Every few years, a standout player arises from the ashes of a Ho-Oh and leaves a sizeable impression on the tournament scene. From 2007 to 2009, Samantha Mathis stormed onto the scene with tricky tactics. Long-time player Cordelia Van Amstel has been with the game since 2004 and finally had a breakout season in 2010, continuing her momentum to the current day, known for her oppressive offensive decks and strategies.

You might be noticing a trend that our writing team is highlighting: female TCG players are as rare as shiny Pokémon. This weekend, another star joined that constellation: Olivia Moore.

Moore’s tournament record before Indianapolis is short, yet impactful. Out of the four regionals attended this season (Colorado Springs - Colorado, Salem - Oregon,  Lake Buena Vista - Florida, and Madison - Wisconsin), she placed 3rd, 13th, 2nd, and 4th, respectively. Strong results like these put her in good standing with the current ELO system, which is used for qualification into the World Championship. However, Moore must have had other plans in mind this weekend regarding standings, seeking something legendary.

Piloting a control deck focusing on Chandelure (NVI), Accelgor (DEX), and Vileplume (UD), her goal was clear: do not let her opponent attack or play critical item cards. The strategy worked, carrying her deep into the top brackets, before losing in the quarterfinals. Our team sees the patterns in Olivia’s playstyle: methodical and precise, someone who’s carefully dissecting the board state at all times.

Moore was elusive and unable to be pinned down for an interview, but we’ll be sure to get a few words in with her during the World Championships this year in Honolulu, Hawaii.

Dexter’s Photo:

Located via Reddit trading: Popular Science Magazine - February 2016 issue

Dexter is shaking hands with Dr. Ro, both of them positioned over a large display table, which has three different computer monitors set up. There’s a program running in the background, showing different algorithms. Clearly, the nerd is very proud and happy of his achievements, even if his parents linger in the background, almost looking on in disapproval.

Science fairs are the lifeblood of the next generation of scientists, where interests push people to computers, technology, mechanics, and mathematics. We, at Popular Science Magazine, like to highlight the achievements of these young individuals, who will undoubtedly leave a major impact on the future of our world.

One of these up-and-coming scientists is Dexter Penfield, a senior at Liberty High School in Liberty, Missouri. His passion has always been computer science, experimenting with putting Super Mario Brothers on a flip phone, to programming an automated lawn mower. This year, his technical achievements have evolved into something brilliant. 

“AI is the future,” Dexter mentioned in great detail when one of our journalists called to speak with him over the phone. “It’s why I came up with the medical program. Through pre-existing data, we can find and diagnose common health concerns like cancer much faster.”

The proof is in Penfield’s work: his science fair display had a miniature X-ray machine on site so people could scan their hands, identifying details like a pulled muscle or carpal tunnel.

“We’re still in the infancy stages, but I truly believe there’s life-changing science here.” 

Dexter’s first-place prize netted him a $2,000 gift card for Southwest Airlines. He’s already rolling into college, William Jewel, on a full scholarship, but our team did have to ask one important question.

“Where will I go on vacation? People keep telling me I should visit Hawaii or Disney, but I’m sensitive to the sun. Maybe Atlanta to see NASA or Seattle to visit Microsoft? I haven’t decided yet.”

Regardless of where this young inventor goes, we’ll be watching to see where his achievements take him.

Silas’s Photo:

Retrieved from a library contact: A well-worn newspaper clipping from The Indianapolis Star - March 2016

The photo is of Silas in his sheriff’s outfit, nearly jumping out of his boots, holding a large wooden plaque award being presented to him by the Governor of Indiana. His wife, red hair flying behind her, is hugging him from behind happily.

A week-long celebration of our men and women in the public sector field has finally come to a close. Honoring those who serve in law enforcement, medical, and fire response, many awards were given to celebrate their lifelong commitment to protecting Indiana. Nominations were taken from citizens and political envoys throughout the year, culminating in this moment.

Silas Calhoun, head sheriff of Corydon, was voted Sheriff of the Year by his peers. Sheriff Calhoun has been working in the field since high school, explaining to reporters that it felt right for him to be in a law enforcement role. 

The city of Corydon has been voted one of the safest cities in Indiana, also ranking on the national scale. It’s all because of the work Calhoun and his small team put in daily. The city’s population has gone up 20% in the past 5 years, with most residents moving in due to the positive word of mouth.

“My father and his father were both active military. When they retired, they both went into public service. It’s an honor to follow in their footsteps.” Calhoun shared with us. “I’m not doing this for the reward. I’m doing it to preserve peace.”

Leaving us with heartfelt words, Silas may not want to celebrate, but his friends sure do. 

???? - ????

The delivery timeline was two weeks, but when the vampire bat flew into her office, a manila envelope clutched in his talons, Felicia dropped everything for the early delivery. Love letters scatter to the floor as the bat chirps, before flying over to a corner of the room to shapeshift. She’s out of her plush chair, tentacles working in tandem to recover all the papers, but she doesn’t touch the delivery just yet.

“Madam Felicia. The envelope has been through 5 different channels of security. There’s no pink inside, I can assure you.” 

“Never can be too sure, Jeeves.” Felicia runs a tentacle along the folder’s edge before breaking the red wax seal. It always pains her monster heart to destroy something with a fish motif, but the data inside is worth more than useless aesthetics. 

One tentacle opens the desk drawer, procuring another slab of files, and another gathers up some red string and pins. Jeeves watches from the shadows, cloak draping over his body, before chiming in.

“Not to question your methods, but why did you have Aaravi locate these particular records? More modern-day documents would’ve sufficed-”

“Ah, Jeeves. This is why I am the matchmaker and you are my assistant. To predict the future, we must peer into the past.” Another slippery appendage reaches across the length of the room to pat him on the head. “And these moments are important. The pinnacle of their potential before crashing into the depths below.”

She takes a seat and turns her chair to a large corkboard on the back wall, letting her tentacles do all the work, pinning and procuring, stretching thread, and bringing her a notepad with a Mothman feather pen. 

“I should’ve known that you have a penchant for misery.” Jeeves removes himself from the wall, sliding along the wooden floorboards, until he stops at the base of her desk. “You’re spoiling Mr. Carter.”

“His family and my business go back decades. I would never put him in a risky position, so the solution was quite obvious.” She places his photo in the center of her makeshift pentagram. “Hide him in the shadows of other questionable humans.” 

“And the sheriff? Don’t tell me you did that intentionally?” Jeeves huffs under his breath. 

“No. He’s unfortunately getting a bit too close, no matter how much we shove him away. And the threat he poses to us monsters is dangerous.” Felicia preens her neck to one side, sneaking him a glance. “Alas, I can’t protect our Murder Party Killer from such a persistent man.” 

“Problematic, indeed.” He examines her work so far, mentally noting the weaknesses of her prey. Sexual misconduct from the comedian, murder from a mortician. Those cases interest him more than Dexter’s academic dishonesty and Amber’s burglary and money laundering charges. “So you’ll use Liberty as the spot?”

“Yes. This arrangement will work perfectly.” She steps back to look at her masterpiece, intricate magical symbols created from the string, each record positioned in perfect harmony. Only one photo remains: staring back at her with punk-blue hair is Cordelia Van Amstel.  “Jeeves. Did Gloria Van Amstel return a signed blood contract to me?” 

“Yes, ma’am. I believe she’s still upset at your lack of guaranteed service, but she complied with all requests.” Jeeves bows his head. “Her rental farmhouse property and the key to the Plymouth are yours as compensation.”

“Excellent. She knew my original stipulations: her daughter would have to be potential collateral-” The picture of Cordelia floats over to the board, next to Olivia’s image, pinned into place by a quick throw of her quill. “But love makes us do strange things. She valued her daughter’s life over her getting her back together with Ms. Moore.”

“To be honest, a card shark and a human should not be marrying each other.”

“Who said she was human?” Felicia smiles, reaching for a glass of blue wine on her desk, sipping calmly. 

“Come again?” Jeeves tilts his head in confusion. 

“Oh, don’t worry your little vampire fangs about it. That was a joke.” She could sit back down, but leaning against her deck and admiring the collage is preferred. “I’m only letting the Van Amstel’s do this because we have contracts dating back to the 16th century Hawaii. It’s an ethical code between the Aquarian species of monsters.”

“...So do you think they’ll hook back up?” Jeeves isn’t a fan of Felicia’s communication, knowing full well she’s playing with her toys, including him. 

“I guess we’ll have to watch and see. You know the drill. Get me a swarm of avian and insect scouts ready to go. We move into relocation once the call comes in.”

End.