Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The evening of October 31st found many lined up and down the block for a movie they could not get into. 

Granted, it wasn't the theater's plan to shut down that night, one of the biggest nights of horror. The problem was the roaches skittering out from behind the concessions counter and past Radford's beaten Converse All-Stars as Streber, his coworker, tried desperately to squash them all underfoot. 

"Yuck!" Radford exclaimed, trying to ignore the psychosomatic sensation of tiny legs crawling up the back of his neck. "And on the opening night of Box Cutter II, too?" He turned to Streber, who was rubbing his arms - it seemed he'd succumbed to the feeling already, poor guy. He'd been the one to find the infestation in the first place, having dropped a box of chips on the floor when he noticed the roaches in and around it. Hence them running everywhere. "Didn't we have the exterminator here last month?"

"No, remember? Management wasn't there that day, so we had to send them away." Streber sat on the edge of the countertop, flicking a few bugs that had found refuge up there onto the floor. "Jesus Christ, this is so gross. See, this is why I hate working on Halloween."

"That's not even the worst part; there's already people here," Radford groaned, gesturing towards the doors - several people were crowded around the glass, peering straight at them. Some were even knocking. As obnoxious as it was, he couldn't blame them - it'd been a while since the first Box Cutter movie came out, and everyone had been excited for the sequel's release. "What are we gonna do?"

"Uhhh…” Streber glanced down the hallway toward the other exits. "We could let 'em in through the side doors, block off this area so no one comes in. Or do you mean about the bugs?"

Radford stepped gingerly across the patterned carpet before joining Streber on the countertop, cringing as he watched the roaches. He hoped they were only in this part of the building, but he wouldn't be shocked if they were everywhere, what with the spills littering every square inch of the place. "I dunno, about both, maybe?"

Streber pulled out his phone and scrolled through it. "Well, we could always call an exterminator," he said, before thrusting the screen into Radford's face to show him what he'd found. 

"Streb, we're not supposed to handle stuff like-" Radford leaned away, letting his eyes adjust to the screen, and sighed when he saw the number Streber pulled up. "Dexter?" he asked, exasperated, squinting behind the phone at his friend. "Do you even think they'd be available? It's pretty late."

"They owe me." Streber shrugged, setting his phone back down and scratching his arms - probably more of those pesky bug feelings. "And anyways, it doesn't sound like you have any other ideas, Rad."

"Yeah, yeah." Radford waved away Streber, who instantly pressed the 'dial' button and hopped off the counter and towards the breakroom. He wasn't sure why Streber needed to leave him alone amongst the roaches, but whatever - for now, he had to work on damage control as much as the idea of it scared him. He waded through the sea of roaches towards the doors, the faces gaining more form the closer he got - wait, was that his brother? 

"Hey, Rad!" Robbie's nose was pressed to the glass as he grinned from ear to ear. His friends stood around him, Roy's arms crossed and Ross' hands tucked into his pockets. They were dressed up as the original trio of the Ghostbusters, complete with fake proton packs.

Radford opened the door and slipped through the narrow gap with a nervous smile, wiping beads of sweat from his upper lip. "Rob? What's up?" 

Robbie fidgeted in his Stantz costume, pulling at the sleeves. He had grown a few inches since they bought it in the summer, so it didn't fit as well anymore. "Isn't it opening night for Box Cutter II?"

"Yeees?" Radford replied, leaning against the glass doors - not like he could do anything else with everyone crowding around them. "It still is - I hope, anyway - but we're having some issues right now." As he spoke, a roach slipped through the crack in the door and crawled over his shoe. If he hadn't already been used to this, he would've screamed like when he first saw them; now, it was just annoying. He kicked the sidewalk to knock it off before smiling up at his brother again. 

"What kinda issues?" Roy huffed as he adjusted the proton pack on his shoulders. "Why can't we just wait inside?"

Ross and Robbie shot him glares, but Radford beat them to it, gesturing vaguely at the roach he'd just kicked off his shoe. Almost in unison, the three teenagers looked down and jumped away, knocking into the people behind them. Radford held back a snicker and crushed it under his heel. "Anyways, it's rated R, so you guys can't see it."

"We can with parental permission," Roy insisted, his eyes twinkling with mischief. 

Radford just shook his head. As cute as Roy thought his antics were, this wasn't a good night for them. "Y'know I could lose my job if I let you guys into an R-rated movie, right?" 

Roy threw his hands up in the air and stomped on someone's foot by accident, turning tail and shoving his way through the crowd. Maybe he'd changed his mind on trick-or-treating. Radford caught Ross and Robbie exchanging glances and raised an eyebrow. "Is he gonna be okay?"

"Yeah," Ross sighed, rolling his eyes. "He's just a dick."

Robbie nodded in agreement and pressed the pads of his fingers together. "To tell you the truth, he's the only one who wanted to see the movie. I'm not that excited about it." 

"My mom is," Ross piped up, glancing around the throng of horror fans. "I'm sure she and Dad are here somewhere; they closed the shop early to see it." 

Radford wished he could be so lucky. "Well, hopefully, everything will be fixed up soon." He ruffled Robbie's hair with a grin, then reopened the door to go back inside. "For now, you guys should run along before all the good houses close up for the night." He waved at the boys, about to slip away when he noticed a figure clad in mustard yellow strolling through where people had separated to let Roy through. 

Great, so on top of all of this, Radford was going to have to deal with Dexter? It wasn't that he had actual issues with them, but something about them made his skin crawl. 

Then again, maybe his skin was just crawling because he was thinking about roaches. 

Dexter straightened their back, seeming to gear up for a practiced greeting - Radford wasn't in the mood for theatrics but decided to wait through it. The roach situation can't get any worse, after all, he thought as they stuck out a shaky hand. "Hello! Dexter the exterminator, at your service. I hear you have a roach problem?" 

"Uh…yep!" Radford took a quick look at their orange gloves and decided he did not want to touch those. After all, he was (tentatively) running concessions tonight, and who knew when they were last changed. Instead, he heaved a sigh and beckoned for Dexter to follow him through the double doors, not wanting to be out there for longer than necessary. 

The doors shut with a click behind them, and Dexter turned to survey the problem, hands on their hips. Radford cleared his throat and was about to say something when Dexter beat him to it. "Believe it or not, I was getting ready to come here anyway," they said with a snort, watching the bugs as they swarmed the sticky floors.

"Oh? You a big Box Cutter fan?" Radford arched an eyebrow at them. He never took Dexter as a horror enthusiast, but given their profession and how close Streber was to them, it would make sense.

"You could say that." Dexter reached up to grip their backpack straps, tapping one of the buttons with their gloved index. It seemed to be a homemade Box Cutter pin, an image of the titular character - likely ripped from the pages of a magazine - mod-podged onto the metal. "Sequels are usually awful, but you still can't help being excited for them. Even if it's to see how bad they are."

"Guess so." Radford leaned against the wall, fiddling with the cuffs of his sleeves, which were already covered in grease from earlier in his shift. Gross…though at least he wouldn't have to deal with concessions for the next hour or so. "I hope this one's good, though. Not sure how they could mess it up with such a strong start."

"Tch, don't say that." Dexter hoisted the backpack on their shoulders again and stepped further into the building. "So, the problem…it's just in here? Streber said they all came out of a box?"

Nodding, Radford pointed to the box that he doubted any roaches were still in. All of the snacks were spilled on the floor, and a number of them had been opened. The working theory was that one of his coworkers decided they were going to steal snacks and just threw the half-eaten bags back in the box. 

Dexter knelt down next to it and turned it upside down, shaking it out - probably to see if there were more roaches, Radford reasoned - then tossed the snack bags back in and shoved it at Radford. "Do me a favor, throw this out."

Radford gripped the flimsy cardboard, raising an eyebrow before taking the box to the dumpsters. He stepped into the dark alleyway, opened the dumpster, and tossed the box, snack bags, and any roaches taking refuge inside them with a thud. He then pushed his sweaty curls out of his face, taking a moment for himself. This was far from the Halloween he wanted to be having. He wanted to joke around with Streber and their other coworkers, maybe smoke some pot in one of their cars before dragging themselves home. And he wanted to mooch off Robbie's Halloween candy when he got there, maybe watch whatever movie he and his friends had turned on. But no dice. He leaned against the door to open it and came back inside, just to find the doors to the lobby were shut. 

"W-?"

"Hey, I was looking for you!" came Streber's cheerful voice out of nowhere, and Radford jumped and whipped around to find his coworker leaning out of one of the auditoriums. "Dexter closed the front off so they could work in there. For now, they said we should probably just let people in through the side doors."

"Kinda sucks for people who didn't pre-order their tickets, though."

"Eh, who cares." Streber waved him off and turned towards the doors Radford had just come through, fixing his bunched-up sleeves. “Still, should probably go get them.”

After a moment of stillness, Radford glanced at Streber. "I'm guessing you want me to do it?"

As Streber fluttered his lashes, Radford couldn't help but stifle a snicker and roll his eyes. He made his way back outside to direct the line through the side doors, and only seconds later, horror fans, old and young, stormed the hallways and left both employees in the dust.

With a sigh, Radford opted to wait near the doors in case anyone else walked in while Streber peeled off to sit in the projection booth. The theater was pretty old, so it still had one - for the most part, they just sat up there to ensure there were no technical difficulties (or at least, that was what they told their managers). Radford would've killed to be around when they needed old-timey projection equipment, but the digital age had destroyed that. 

As his legs grew tired, he dragged one of the hallway benches over near the door so he could still see outside; all he saw were a few roaches in the glow of the lamplight. He was about to grab a snack from the vending machine buzzing nearby when he heard a noise from one of the empty auditoriums that caused him to drop his change. 

He knelt down to pick it up, and his finger grazed - unsurprisingly - another roach. "Jesus Christ!" he swore, snapping upright and stomping down the hallway, slamming open the doors to the lobby. "Hey Dexter, they're in the halls, too…oo?"

Dexter jolted and whipped their head towards the door as something very…wing-like fluttered to the ground. They cleared their throat and dropped the roach squirming in their gloved hands. "Yes?" 

Radford really hoped they weren't wasting precious time dissecting the roaches they caught. "What are you doing?"

"I'm identifying them," Dexter replied, "making sure I know exactly what I'm dealing with."

He could hear the way Dexter was smiling behind their mask. Too wide, too eager, and it made the hairs at the nape of Radford's neck stand up - but it was probably nothing. He shook his head and forced a smile back on his face. "Okay, well, just wanted to let you-"

"Yeah, yeah, they're down the halls, I heard you. Let me take care of the root of the problem. Those are just the ones that got away." 

The next thing Radford knew, Dexter had shooed him back out and slammed the door behind him. "What a guy," Radford grumbled, returning to his post near the doors. He had no idea why Streber was so buddy-buddy with them, but he wasn't about to argue as long as they were doing their job. 

The first showing was almost over when Dexter finally reopened the lobby doors and started setting up roach motels close to the walls, humming the Box Cutter theme to themself. When they were done, they straightened up and pulled off their mask, goggles, and gloves. Their black hair was matted and sweaty, and their bangs stuck to their face.

"I bet it's a relief to take that off," Radford offered, unsure what else to say to them.

"Yeah, it is!" Dexter chuckled, tucking both items in their bag. Radford had no clue how they could carry it around for so long. It had to be killing their back and, at the very least, their shoulders. "So, when's the next showing?"

"You mean of Box Cutter II?" 

"Uh, no." Sarcasm dripped from Dexter's voice as they pushed their bangs from their face and pulled a glasses case from the side pocket of their bag. "Yes, Box Cutter II. Streber promised I'd get to see it for free if I took care of the 'situation'."

Radford had been wondering about payment - after all, he had no control of the finances since management was conveniently absent that night. But hadn't Dexter owed Streber in the first place…whatever. Glancing at his watch, Radford realized the movie had to be close to ending; it wasn't super long, only 95 minutes, and without drink and popcorn spills to clean up, he and his coworkers would be able to start seating the next showing pretty quickly. "Probably another half hour," Radford mused. He turned to Dexter, who was still messing with their appearance. "So, no concessions tonight, right?"

"Hey, not my job, not my decision," Dexter rubbed their arms, almost as if to warm themself, and chuckled. "Though I wouldn't advise it with all the chemicals and dead bugs you'll have to clean…not very sanitary."

Well, if they'd plucked off the wings off of all the bugs, Radford could believe that; he might as well start cleaning while they waited for more people to come in. He bid the exterminator an awkward goodbye, then walked to the lobby, taking care not to step in any of the traps. It seemed they were working, though, with a few bugs already climbing inside.

One of his coworkers was already situated at the ticket counter, watching him owlishly as he dragged the vacuum out and started cleaning up the mess. He tried to ignore the little roach bodies crunching under his shoes. 

As he cleaned, only a few more people came in for the next showing of Box Cutter II. It seemed almost everyone who wanted to see it came to the first one; it made sense since the town was full of horror geeks, especially on Halloween. Most of the children, his brother included, were out trick-or-treating, while the adults indulged in their own nights of horror. 

Streber came out after a little bit, not finding it essential to keep watch over a mostly empty theater, and he and a few other coworkers started to help close. By the time the second showing was over and the audience began to trickle out, the lobby was free of bug carcasses and of any weird chemical odors, and Radford was so ready to go home - but they'd still have to check through each theater, shut everything off, and lock the doors. He usually loved his job, but man, tonight hadn't been kind to him. At least nobody else seemed as stressed out, except for Streber, who'd run off with a mumbled excuse that he needed to use the bathroom, still scratching at his arms.

"Hey, I'm gonna go clean up theater six," Radford called to no one after the rest of the patrons left, heading back down the hallway. Huh, looked like someone already moved the bench away from the door - the door that was in the process of shutting. He didn't pay it much mind though, since some customers liked to exit through the hall doors, and walked into theater six. The credits had long since stopped rolling and the screen was dark, but as he peered around the dim auditorium, he noticed a patron sitting slumped in their seat. Radford rolled his eyes - who the fuck fell asleep during a slasher? Maybe the movie had been bad. 

"Hey, wakey-wakey - we're about to close, dude!" he called up to them - but they didn't move an inch. Maybe they were just a heavy sleeper, then? He climbed up the steps, watching his mismatched Converse carefully to ensure he didn't trip. Upon reaching the correct row, he approached the slumbering patron with care. He reached out and gently shook their shoulder to rouse them. "H-"

Before he could get the word out, the body toppled forward, and the dull sound of their skull cracking against the hard floor sent Radford's blood running cold. 

His hand still hovered in the air as his throat grew tight. Trembling, he braced himself by grabbing onto the backs of the seats and used his foot to roll the body over…

Suffice it to say, the roaches were the least of his worries as he stared at the grim sight of the gutted body before him. 

Chapter Text

It took everything for Radford to not spill his own guts as he stared at the body. 

It was like a horror movie - no, it was worse because the blood soaking their T-shirt was real . Not corn syrup, photo-flo, food coloring…and it was spreading all over the floor, towards his shoes, and he had a sneaking suspicion he knew exactly who had done this. 

Without a second thought, he sprinted from the auditorium, knocking over his broom with a clatter that echoed throughout the hallway behind him. 

Out of breath, he stumbled into the lobby. "Did you guys see them leave?" He yelled, hands on his wobbly knees as he leaned against the doorway. It was then he noticed the blood staining the soles of his shoes, making him gag once again. 

"Who?" One of his coworkers asked. 

" Dexter , the fu-" Radford straightened and threw his hands up in exasperation. "The exterminator ! What do you mean, 'who' ?"

His coworkers exchanged glances. "Um, I don't know, maybe the kajillion customers that were just in here?" One of them sneered. 

Frustrated, Radford took off toward the break room, well aware of the bloody footprints he was leaving behind. There was no way the killer wasn't Dexter…right? Who else had been unsettling the whole night? Who else had every means to kill anything they got their hands on? And they had disappeared after the movie, since he hadn't seen them come out with the rest of the customers…

Radford finally made it inside, flipping the lights on and looking around before letting the door slam shut behind him. He snatched his jacket from the table and shook a stowaway roach onto the floor before digging in the pockets for his phone. For a moment, he debated calling his uncle directly or just calling 911, but he eventually decided there was no point dealing with the shenanigans of the latter - not to mention Jack and John were the only policemen worth their salt in town. 

"Hello?" His uncle answered, gruff voice crackling through the phone. 

"Uh, hey, John." Radford worried a curl around his finger and tugged it. He had no idea how to say what he needed to say, so he just blurted, "I found a body."

"A body?" There was a muffled pause in which it sounded like he was talking to someone else - probably Jack - before John returned. "You at work?"

"Yeah, it was in one of the theaters. I just saw it laying there, and-" 

A labored sigh cut him off. "Y'know you're supposed to call 911, kiddo."

Radford swallowed. They would've directed me to you anyways, he wanted to say, but ultimately chose not to. "I know, but it takes too much time." 

" Mhm ." Radford could tell he was rolling his eyes on the other end. "All righty. You sure they're dead? Gotta know what we're dealing with so I know who to call."

"Yeah, you'll definitely need Patty for this one," Radford said. As much as he was trying not to think about why they would need a forensic pathologist, he couldn't get the gruesome scene out of his head: their slit-open stomach, organs all over themself and the floor, blood bubbling out of their mouth. It gave him a weird sense of deja vu, but he couldn't place where it came from, and that only made it that much more unsettling. 

"All right, kiddo. Seeya soon."

Beep.

Radford set the phone down with a clatter and slicked his curls from where they hung over his eyes, his legs finally crumpling beneath him. The shock was catching up to him as he sucked deep breaths into his lungs, trying to sooth his pounding heart. 

He wasn't going home anytime soon, was he?

…

An hour or so later, Radford got his answer. 

He had no clue why he'd expected the scene to be organized like in the movies he watched, but that couldn't be further from the truth. Random passersby and moviegoers were standing in front of the theater, trying to figure out what was happening, while the press was pounding on the locked front doors and shouting questions through the glass. Inside, while Patty and John were investigating the body, Jack was interviewing him in the break room.

But there was no sign of Dexter anywhere. 

"Sorry you had to deal with this, Radford," Jack said, mopping his brow with his sleeve and leaving a dark stain on the fabric. "But John and Patty will figure it out, so hopefully you can go home soon! In the meantime, do you mind if I ask you some questions?"

Radford chuckled, avoiding the deputy's eyes and watching Streber tap, tap, tapping on his phone. He wondered if he was texting Dexter, and couldn't shake the chilling image of bloodied fingers texting him back, leaving smears of red on the keypad. "You kinda already got me here, dude."

"I know." Jack pulled out a notepad and tugged a pen from the spiral binding, flipping the blue cover to the back. "And I know you didn't do it, if that's what you mean. I just want to know if you saw anything suspicious tonight."

"Suspicious?" Radford echoed. 

Jack tapped the pen against the clean, lined paper, a patient smile on his face. "Just tell me what happened. Take your time."

Radford's mind rolled over the events of the night. It'd been pretty slow until just before the first showing of Box Cutter II, he and Streber engaging in silly banter and eating their allotted snacks at the concessions counter. Then came the roach incident, right before all the Box Cutter fans - and Dexter - showed up. 

"I guess there was Dexter," Radford managed to stutter, and Streber's head whipped to look at him. 

"What do you mean 'there was Dexter'?" Jack and Streber asked in unison, but while Jack looked confused, Streber looked upset.  

Jack cleared his throat and asked the question again, and Radford rubbed the goosebumps on his arms, trying to ignore the cold look Streber was sending his way. "Well, we had to call an exterminator to take care of a roach problem, and Streber called Dexter because he figured they'd be able to get it done the fastest," he explained, voice wavering.

Jack nodded slowly, his expression hard to read. "I know Dexter." He cleared his throat and clicked his pen before starting to write. "Can you show me any proof that you paid them for their services? Or any proof that they were here?"

Radford shook his head, shifting in his seat. "We didn't pay them, we just let them see the movie for free. Like…like an exchange." There was probably evidence in Streber's call logs, but that wouldn't be good enough - not to mention Streber was already on edge. "I'd say you could check the cameras, but they're a little dodgy so I don't think that'd help."

"How convenient," Jack muttered under his breath. "And were they behaving any particular way?"

"They were normal," Streber cut in before Radford could even open his mouth. 

Jack let out a long sigh before turning to face Streber, his chair screeching across the dirty linoleum. "Sorry, but I'm going to have to ask you to be more specific than that. 'Normal' for Dexter is different from 'normal' for us."

Streber groaned, and Radford, knowing he was about to get testy, spoke up. "Dexter got rid of the roaches." And tortured them, probably. "They did their job."

Jack peered at him, his eyes narrowing a hint. "Then why did you bring them up when I asked if anything was suspicious?" Radford sank lower in his seat, regretting his words. He didn't want to upset Streber, but Jack already seemed to know there was more to this than he was letting on. "Uh huh ." Jack glanced over his shoulder at Streber and jerked his thumb at the door. "Get out."

Streber glared at them, his snaggletooth digging into his bottom lip as he stomped out the door. 

Radford felt lighter and he sat up in his chair, wiping his sweaty palms on his slacks. "Sorry, Jack," Radford mumbled the apology, twiddling his thumbs as he waited to get back to the main topic. "Streber's, um, really close with Dexter."

"I can tell..." Jack turned back to the table, his frown fading back into that same calm smile from before. "And I'm sure you're close with him. But you can't worry about that right now, okay?"

Radford nodded, and a bead of sweat trickled down his cheek. There was a quiet moment, filled only by the tapping of Jack's pen and the ticking of the analog clock on the wall. "The truth is, I- I mean, it's Dexter, Jack." Radford watched the second hand tick around the clock's circumference. "I don't know what to tell you, they were just as unsettling as usual."

"And did they do anything to make you feel that way?"

Radford chewed on his lip, braces scraping against the soft skin inside his mouth. The taste of blood was heavy in his mouth and he cringed, the taste reminding him of the smell and the smell reminding him of- "I caught them tearing the wings off the roaches." And smiling about it . "But that's it, really. I did hear some weird noises in one of the theaters, but that was when Dexter was in the lobby so probably something just fell."

Jack inhaled through his nose and scribbled more on the page before abruptly shutting the notebook. 

"Whoa, I'm done?" Radford was shocked - he thought these interviews were supposed to last for hours. Then again, tonight had already taught him not to trust cop shows. 

"That's all I needed to hear, so as far as I’m concerned you’re good to go," Jack chuckled, though he hesitated to stick the pen back in the notebook. "Unless there was anything else?"

Radford yearned to tell Jack that he knew it was Dexter - but besides the thing with the roaches and the guy's general weirdness, there wasn't much he could say as proof. He could only hope that John and Patty had better luck gathering evidence. So instead, he shook his head and stood from the chair, his eagerness to leave causing him to slip - man , he needed to clean the blood off these shoes. 

As Radford stood at the sink, he heard Jack tittering from his place at the table. Embarrassed, he quickly grabbed a paper towel and set it on the counter. He then reached down to untie his shoes, but Jack interrupted him once again. "Oh, also...I might need to take those shoes as evidence."

Was he kidding - Radford's shoes ? He paused, fingers still toying with the laces as he looked over his shoulder at Jack. "So what, I'm just supposed to walk around in my socks?"

"I'm sorry." 

Well, at least Jack was apologetic about it. With a sigh, Radford kicked off his mismatched Chuck Taylors and handed them over by the laces, before picking up his things and excusing himself. 

Streber was leaning against the wall outside the door, but didn't look up when Radford walked out. Instead, he pulled out his keys with a soft jingle and started walking to the exit, his head down and shoulders hunched. Radford noticed the scratch marks covering his arms - it didn't seem like he'd torn the skin, but the marks were red and definitely recent. Had the roaches bothered him that much? 

As they made their way through the lobby, the clamor of the press grew more audible. Radford glanced over and found all the reporters staring straight at him, shouting questions and trying to force their way through the doors. "Sheesh, you'd think they've never seen a murder before," Radford joked, attempting to clear the air, but Streber just continued to walk down the hallway towards the rear parking lot. 

They passed the closed double doors to theater six, now criss-crossed with stark yellow caution tape. Before Radford could take another step, though, Streber yanked him back by the collar. Radford yelped, but a single polished finger was pressed against his lips before he could say anything else. With that, his coworker opened the door a crack and they both leaned in to eavesdrop. 

"I don't understand it, Patty," John's surly voice filtered into the hallway. "This is a small town. Might be a town of freaks, but I've never seen anything like this."

There was a quiet hum, likely from Patty. It was soon followed by the sound of a large bag being zipped up, leaving no doubt in Radford's mind that the victim was dead. "Well, I can't say I haven't, John, but it's the worst I've seen here ."

"There's a lot of people out there wantin' to know what happened." 

Radford sucked in a breath. Did that mean they had answers? Did they know who'd done it? 

"There's nothing to tell right now," Patty replied, her smooth voice cutting through Radford's panicked thoughts like a knife through butter. "There isn't much evidence here. I'll have to examine the wounds more thoroughly, test for DNA."

After a few minutes of silence, John heaved a sigh. "Our guy was too careful," he mused. "It's like he's not even human."

"Maybe that's because he's a woman."

"...You think it is?"

"I'm joking," was Patty's deadpan response. "It doesn't read as a woman. We aren't usually this messy when we kill people." 

“You kill many people, Patty?”

It was then that Radford noticed their voices seemed to be getting closer, and he glanced nervously at Streber before making eyes at the exit. The two made it out of the building and into Streber's car just in time to watch Patty and John moving the body bag out of the auditorium.  

"You could've gotten us in trouble," Radford finally broke the silence, crossing his arms as he glared at Streber. 

"I know," Streber grumbled, left cheek smushing against the window as he gazed at the dingy lot. There was trash everywhere - discarded popcorn tubs, soda cups, water bottles. "Sorry. It's just...been a bad night, Rad."

That was rich, coming from someone who'd slacked off most of the night and especially from someone who hadn't discovered the body. Meanwhile, Radford still felt sick, the acidic taste of bile on his tongue, and he wasn't sure if he felt up to pigging out on Halloween candy anymore. If his night hadn't already been bad enough, the murder was truly the cherry on top.  

Streber finally started the car and pulled out of the lot, traversing the alleyways before finally reaching the main road. News vans lined the street. "Jesus," he muttered. Thank goodness they were heading the other direction, because driving through that would be a nightmare. On their way through the town, Radford saw more people heading in the direction of the theater and crossed his fingers in the hopes that Robbie was safe at home, unaware of what had happened. 

After a short drive, Streber wordlessly pulled into Radford's - well, John's - driveway and parked the car. The two of them sat for a minute, Radford hesitant to leave the safety of the vehicle, before Streber finally glanced over. 

"Well...have a good night."

Radford offered a shaky thumbs up, his other hand resting on the door handle. "Yeah, Happy Halloween."

Streber forced a smile, almost as though he was fighting down a biting remark, and unlocked the car. "Yeah. Happy Halloween."

With that, Radford scrambled out of the car and to the house, his poor socks tearing on the rough pavement. He scanned the yard, but there was nothing there except for the jack-o-lanterns flickering on the porch. Still, he couldn't shake the sinking feeling that came with being watched. Being hunted .

Robbie and his friends were already dead asleep on the couch when he made it inside and locked the door, though the TV was still on and buzzing. With a deep sigh, Radford switched it off and tousled Robbie's blonde curls. He took a second to make sure the boy was still alive, breathing, and warm, before dragging himself to his room, rubbing his eyes as he walked up the steps. 

It was so fucked up that he was having to check if his brother was alive, but he couldn't help being scared. What if he had been in the theater when De- the killer was there? What if Radford had let the teenagers in? The thought of it made his stomach churn and he tried his best to shake the feeling away. The stress of the night had really taken a toll on him and for once he couldn't wait to crash on his lumpy mattress, though he likely wouldn't get a wink of sleep.

He thought back to what Streber said earlier in the night and couldn't help but agree. He hated working Halloweens, too. 

Chapter Text

November 1st, to Radford, was a day in limbo. 

On any other November 1st, he would have spent the day putting away decorations, stomach heavy with candy. But from the sound of the news blaring from downstairs and his phone buzzing on the nightstand…well, his morning might have some interruptions. With a loud groan, he grabbed his glasses and his phone and glanced at his texts. 

John: Late night at the station. If I don't get back before ten, make sure Hope gets some breakfast. 

John: Something healthy, not frozen waffles. 

Radford glanced over at his clock radio. It was eleven o'clock AM. 

Kevs: just saw the news. sounds like your night was worse than mine, for once. 

Haha, rub it in. 

Streb: hi, sorry for being weird

Streb: you want to grab lunch later today so we can talk?

Groggily, he pocketed his phone and dragged himself out of bed. After fixing his atrocious hair, he tip-toed past Hope's cracked door and made his way downstairs to see if there were any updates on the murder.

"The victim has been identified as seventeen-year-old Joseph Bloggs, one of the many moviegoers who attended the second showing of 'The Box Cutter II' on Halloween night…"

Joe , the clerk at the video game store? He was about to wonder why he hadn't recognized him until he remembered that the clerk usually had his face covered anyway. That, and the shock of seeing a dead person had likely ruined his perception. Radford shivered and forced the thought out of his head before he could form a mental picture of it.

"Hey, Rob," he yawned in greeting as he walked through the living room, heading to the kitchen. His stomach groaned at him to eat something other than snacks (like he had the night before), so he put some toaster tarts in the toaster before heading back to sit with Robbie. "Why're you watching the news? Isn't Scooby-Doo on?"

After not hearing a response, he scanned the group of friends and that was when he noticed just how somber they all were, their gazes rapt on the screen as the reporters spoke of death and destruction. 

"We have contacted John Hannigan, the town sheriff, but have yet to receive a response. As of now, we only know the identity of the victim - nothing about whoever is suspected to have killed him."

Radford reached around his brother and grabbed the remote from the arm of the couch, switching the tv off. These kids didn't need to be watching that stuff. Not to mention how it made him feel, to see someone talking about something so awful with no hint of that reflected on their face. That was how it was talking to John sometimes, which was another reason he was glad Jack had been the one to run his interview last night. 

"Hey, we were watching that," Roy complained, though he didn't get up to turn it back on. He and Ross were still in their sleeping bags and still in costume - save for Ross' fake Spengler glasses, which were set aside on the coffee table.

"Well, you aren't anymore." Radford glanced over at Robbie again, who was nervously twiddling his thumbs. "Is John around?"

Robbie tugged his blanket closer around his shoulders. "Nope." 

Noticing how pale and standoffish Robbie seemed, Radford reached out to rub his shoulder. "You okay?" 

"Yeah, of course," Robbie answered, forcing a smile back onto his face. "Just glad you didn't get hurt. I mean, of course it sucks, but I'd rather it be Joe Blow than you."

"Joe Bloggs ," Radford corrected him.

"Same thing." 

And there went the toaster, loudly announcing Radford's tarts were all done before the conversation could continue. He launched himself off the couch and ran to grab it, though his excitement betrayed his fatigued body and he tripped, his face smacking into the wall. He overheard the group of teenagers snickering at him but decided to just be grateful they weren't all frowning anymore. 

As he grabbed the warm tarts from the toaster, he overheard a jingling from outside. Seconds later, John stepped through the kitchen door, already taking off his coat. He nodded at Radford, who stood staring at him with half a toaster tart sticking out of his mouth. "Hey, kiddo," he said, tone marrying perfectly with the bags under his bloodshot eyes. He must have been up all night working on the case - but what was there to do after cleaning up the scene and interviewing witnesses? 

Radford swallowed his bite and wiped the crumbs from his lips. "Hey, John."

John hung his coat on one of the hooks near the door, right next to Radford’s work vest. "Is Hope still…?"

"Yep. Rob and his friends are up, though." Radford lowered his voice to a hush so the nosy teens couldn't overhear him talking about them. "They know about what happened already."

"Did you tell them?"

Seemed John had just as high of an opinion of him as usual, Radford grumbled internally before shaking his head. "Apparently it's playing on every channel," he said, gesturing into the other room at the black screen. "So you really managed to make it out of the theater without talking to the press? They seem to be going batty without information."

John rolled his eyes and rubbed the back of his neck, fluffing up his mousy hair. "Barely managed to keep 'em away from the body when we took it to the truck. That's the only reason he got identified so fast." 

Radford had been wondering about that; he was pretty sure the authorities weren't supposed to release the names of underage victims. And Joe, despite his waning teenage years, was still a minor. "So that's why the news told everyone who it was."

"They did? Really?" John groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose, shaking his head. "Well, in any case, Patty's got nothin' out of this. No DNA. Only thing we got so far is what you've given us, but we can't jump to conclusions 'bout who's doing this so we'll have to either conduct more interviews. That, or…" He trailed off and pursed his lips. 

Radford had a feeling he knew what was coming next. "...Wait for more bodies?"

John ducked his head. "Yeah. Hate to say it, but that's basically what Patty's been tellin' me."

The synthetic blueberry flavor curdled on Radford's tongue as he shivered at the prospect of more people - more bodies turning up. He'd barely been able to stomach the first one, and if he came across another he had no idea what he'd do. "You think you'll be able to catch this guy?" he asked. 

"Here's to hopin'." John clapped a hand on Radford's shoulder before skulking out of the kitchen and to his room. "I'm gonna try to sleep. If the house phone rings, answer it."

Radford glanced at the house phone charging in its port, then gave John a sarcastic salute. He wasn't going to waste the whole day waiting for a phone call that may or may not come, especially if it wasn't for him. He locked the kitchen door, crammed the rest of his breakfast in his mouth, and brushed his hands off on his sweatpants as he walked to the living room. 

"Hey Rob, I'm taking the pumpkins and stuff in," he shouted to the boys, whose faces were pressed against the living room windows. That was a little strange, but he supposed he'd find out what they were looking at in just a minute. Realizing with a groan that his shoes weren't next to the front door, he shoved on a pair of John's too-small sandals and unlocked the front. 

Oh . There were a lot of news vans. He avoided eye contact with the reporters and grabbed the nearest decorations before slamming the door shut. "Guys, get out of the window," Radford scolded, gesturing for Robbie, Ross, and Roy to close the curtains. 

Robbie leaped back onto the couch and settled under his blanket again. "What're they here for?" 

"They probably followed John from the station." Mid-sentence, Radford's phone buzzed in his pocket and he pulled it out. On the screen was yet another text from Streber about lunch, which he decided he may as well go to. It wasn't like he had much to do other than clean up decorations, which were outside with the news vans he was avoiding. "Just don't open the doors." 

Robbie raised an eyebrow as he watched him walk to the coat closet to grab some shoes. "Where're you going?" the boy finally piped up. 

"Out for lunch." Radford sent Streber a quick text asking if he wanted to meet at Boys N' Grills since they'd be meeting halfway, then shoved on his mismatched shoes. 

"Well, yeah, but is that really safe right now?" His brother rubbed his arms. "I mean, y'know...the killer?"

That made Radford falter for a moment, but he then dismissed it. If there was anything he knew about killers, they were usually wise enough not to strike in broad daylight - especially not the morning after they killed someone. "It'll be okay. Besides, Streb needs to talk to me."

The three boys gave each other knowing smirks. Radford, who apparently wasn't in on the joke, just headed towards the door, but paused when he remembered the task John had given him. "Oh, hey. Uh, if the house phone rings, answer it. It'll probably be for John,” he called through the foyer. Then, he crossed his fingers, wishing not to get swarmed by reporters, and stepped into the sunshine. Hopefully Robbie remembered to lock the door behind him - then again, he'd seemed pretty paranoid, so he didn't doubt it. Robbie could be responsible when he needed to be, sometimes. 

As he drove, he noticed how few people were outside. Typically in the suburbs there'd be at least some people walking around, but not today - no one was even in their lawns taking down their decorations, or toilet paper that Radford prayed hadn't been thrown around by his brother. But what really shocked him was the lack of cars even as he got closer to downtown - there were barely any on the road and the only other one he could see was Streber's black car in front of the restaurant. 

Wow, he'd gotten there fast. 

Radford parked his truck nearby and climbed out, heading over to Streber, who was still sitting in his car. He didn't look up when Radford lifted his hand to knock on the window, just opened the door and climbed out. 

"Hey, Streb! What's up?"

Streber shrugged and offered him a grimace. "The sky." Well, at least he was being sarcastic like usual so he couldn't be in a super bad mood. He continued, "I hope the manager isn't here today. He always stares at me."

Radford was aware of what he was talking about. He'd caught the manager - Bill? Beau? - watching Streber more than a few times. "We can go somewhere else," Radford offered, glancing up and down the street and noting all the restaurants in his line of sight. 

"Nah, it's okay." His friend just shrugged and pushed his sleeves further up his arms, the hair there prickling from the cold. "I've been craving burgers lately and they're pretty good here."

The restaurant was empty save for them and a few employees, though the cheerful country music and the kitschy decor kept it from feeling too barren. Once they were settled into a booth and handed sticky, laminated menus, Streber finally made eye contact with him. "So, Rad?"

"Yeah?" Radford squinted at the small print on the menus, which was worsened by the glare from the overhead lighting. "What's up?"

Streber sucked in a deep breath and, yet again, started itching at his arms. Radford wished he'd stop that. "Look, um… I'm just going to go ahead and say it, okay?” Radford nodded at him to continue. “Aside from the obvious stuff, I got upset because you made me out to be a suspect, too."

Radford's eyebrows flew up and he nearly knocked his head on the light dangling over the center of the table as he looked up. " Huh - "

"It isn't your fault, I know you were just trying to be helpful and informative, but…" Streber pinched the bridge of his nose. "You saying Dexter was suspicious was one thing, but then telling Jack I called them…that was why he sent me out of the room, because he suspects me now."

Radford was sure Jack had only sent Streber out because he was disruptive, though he hadn't considered the other implications. On the other hand, if Jack had suspected Streber, why hadn't he bombarded him with questions after Radford's interview? He wouldn't have just sent Streber home , would he? "I dunno about that," Radford said, turning his attention back to the menu. He would probably just have a burger and fries too, but the problem was what kind…"Don't you think you're being a little paranoid?"

Streber's brows furrowed, and though he tried to seem angry, Radford could tell he was hurt beneath it all. "And you aren't paranoid? You're the one who found the body, Rad. You think they don't suspect you?"

Radford shook his head as he thought back to what Jack had said. "Jack already said he didn't-"

Streber facepalmed. "Oh my God, you really believe that? It's the cops ."

"Then why did they let me go?"

"Okay, fine. Why did they collect your shoes?" Streber responded immediately. Not remembering Jack mentioning why he needed the shoes, he just gave Streber a confused look.. "It’s because they're looking at the tread to see if any footprints that weren't yours were tracking blood around the building."

"But that doesn't mean-" Radford cut himself off and swallowed hard, a sick feeling spreading through his gut. So Jack, Uncle John…they thought it could've been him just because he found the body? He wouldn't hurt a fly. 

Well, that wasn't true. He'd smashed several roaches the prior night. 

In any case, while he knew the police had to cover all the bases, these people had known him since he was a little kid. Surely they didn't actually think it was him. They couldn't. Before he could get too upset, he thought back on some other things Streber had said. "So what was the more 'obvious' reason you were upset last night?"

Streber rolled his eyes, as if Radford should have already known. "I mean, I had to spend my birthday unacknowledged in a dingy roach-infested theater."

Even though Streber's birthday had gotten lost in the fray, it wasn't like Radford hadn't forgotten it. He'd wished him a happy birthday when the clock struck midnight and had given him a pack of sour gummi worms early in their shift. He was about to argue when the server - who happened to be the manager Streber disliked - sidled up next to the booth. 

"Y'all ready to order?" The man - oh, that was his name, Bob - drawled as he looked between them with a friendly enough grin. 

Radford noticed Streber sink down in his seat and scoot further to the window and decided to order first: just a classic medium well burger with some fries and a soda. He tried not to snicker as he watched the server's large hands handle the comparably tiny notebook and pen. 

"Very good." Bob ran his tongue over his teeth as he finished scribbling Radford's order, then looked over at Streber, his smile widening just a hint. "And for you, darlin'?"

Streber cringed at the pet name and mumbled his answer. Before Bob could ask him to speak up, Radford cut him off and spoke up for his poor friend. Bob wrote Streber's order down and went back to the kitchen, whistling along to the country song buzzing over the old radio as he walked. 

Streber offered Radford a weary smile, worrying his lip between his teeth. His demeanor had changed completely; he was no longer his usual snarky self. Radford wasn't sure if 'docile' was the right word to describe his new attitude, but it was pretty damn close. He decided not to bring up his argument since it didn't matter much anyway. After all, Streber had explained why he was upset like he'd wanted. And besides, thinking about that would only have Radford keep going in circles about whether he should trust the interview from the previous night. 

He knew he hadn't done it. He knew he hadn't slaughtered Joe. But it only mattered if the police knew, and now he couldn't be sure if they did.

They ate their lunches in silence. 

Radford could feel Bob's eyes on them from behind the counter. 

Chapter Text

The knife descended, tearing into flesh with a sickening squelch. 

Radford had no clue why John thought he’d want steak for supper, but he didn't. He watched him prepare the meat, his brain conjuring images of the same knife slicing into a stranger’s skin and painting it a deep, ruby red. Cleaving it away from muscle and bone and tearing organs to shreds.

It made him want to throw up. 

It had only been a few days since the grisly murder at the theater, and it already seemed people had gone back to their everyday lives despite the ongoing investigation. The only difference in town was the theater being closed for business, which meant he could kiss his paycheck goodbye. 

Well. Radford cringed again at the thud of the knife against the cutting board. There was another difference. 

“Everything okay, kiddo?” John’s voice cut through the blood pulsing in Radford’s ears and his gaze flicked up from the knife, meeting his uncle’s.

“Yeah,” Radford replied, voice cracking as he did. He cleared his throat and tried again, offering John a thumbs up. “I'm all good.”

John raised a bushy eyebrow. “You’re lookin’ kinda green.”

No shit , Radford wanted to say - but John couldn’t read minds, so it wasn't like he'd know why. “I dunno if I’m gonna eat supper,” Radford managed to mumble, attention flicking back to the knife as he rocked back and forth on his heels. 

John seemed to notice Radford staring at the knife and set it down before shrugging. “That's fine. I didn't have enough for everyone anyway.”

By ‘everyone’, John was referring to Robbie’s friends, who were lounging in the living room, engrossed in their Paranormal Activity marathon. Radford didn't want to intrude, so he stayed in his room most of the day, working on a screenplay he'd rediscovered in his files. He and Hope had hung out a bit, but she didn't like staying in his room for too long because of all the horror posters. Given everything that was happening, he wasn't sure if he wanted to be around those posters either.

Before John could go back to preparing dinner, Radford stepped out of the kitchen, the sound of the knife trailing behind him down the hallway. He climbed the stairs to his room, and as he walked down the hallway, he heard classical music coming through Hope's cracked door. Pushing it ajar, he glanced inside to find Hope lying on her stomach on her bed, scribbling in a coloring book with her big box of crayons.

“Hey, how’s it going in here?” he asked, offering his cousin a soft smile as he stepped into the pink-and-purple room. It was so cutesy in there, almost like a dollhouse - no wonder she was scared of his room.

“Good!” Hope beamed and picked up her coloring book, showing off a shoddily colored-in dog. She’d gravitated to a blue and pink palette for most of the page. “Lookie-look, her name’s Sparkle! Isn’t she pretty?”

“Yeah, she’s real pretty!” Radford couldn't help but chuckle as he noticed the tiny stars and hearts she'd patterned the dog's skin with. “What kinda dog is she?”

Hope turned the page back to herself and squinted at it thoughtfully. “Hmmm…I think she’s a boxer, maybe. A magic one. I'm gonna ask for her for Christmas!” 

Radford nodded along, though he knew John would never buy his daughter a dog - maybe a stuffed dog, if anything. “Well, I hope he gets her for you.” He laughed at his own joke and turned to leave, but before he was able, Hope called after him. 

“When's Robbie gonna be done watching his movie?” She pouted as she slid one of her crayons back into the box. “I wanna watch Happy Fella !”

Radford leaned into the hallway, craning his neck to call down the stairs. “Hey, Robbie?”

“Yeees?”

“When's your movie gonna be over?” 

The teenagers shuffled around, likely fighting over the remote, until one of them eventually passed it to Robbie. “Uh, we’ve got another forty-five minutes,” Robbie shouted once he paused the movie, “and I think dinner’s soon. Why?”

Radford leaned back into Hope’s room, sticking his lip out in a melodramatic pout. “Sorry, doesn’t sound like he’ll be done anytime soon.” As Hope's grin melted into a frown, an idea popped into his head. He went to his room, grabbed his laptop, and took one of Hope's Barbie movies from her shelf. Then, he inserted the disc into the computer and set it in front of her. “Here - I know it isn’t Happy Fella , but!”

Hope smiled again, turned up the movie, and kept coloring the dog picture. Radford reached over and sat her Happy Fella doll next to her before leaving her be. She was such a sweetheart, and he was glad he and Robbie could be there for her when John couldn’t. 

Only when he reached his room did he realize he had no clue what to do without his laptop. Although he could probably access his screenplay on his phone, he could barely see the keypad. So, he sat on his bed and gazed out the window, watching the sun begin to set as it cast long shadows across the yard. The mid-autumn breeze rustled the trees, dislodging leaves that had been clinging to them for dear life and sending them tumbling into the neighbor's driveway - only for them to be crushed under someone's heavy boot.

And not just anyone’s heavy boot. 

It’s that damn exterminator again, Radford thought to himself as he rolled his eyes. How hadn't they been arrested yet? Even though John had mentioned the case had hit a dead end, it didn’t sound like they’d even brought Dexter in for questioning despite their suspicious behavior. 

Not to mention the little voice in the back of his mind that kept asking: W hy question me and not Dexter?

He pulled out his phone, since his camera was way up on his shelf, and started filming them as they knocked and waited on the neighbor’s porch. Radford opened his window a crack to listen for any sounds of a struggle once Dexter was let in, but there was nothing to hear, just a distant car alarm and the trees rustling nearby. Still, he kept filming until he noticed a familiar red car careening down the street. All thoughts of Dexter Erotoph vanished, and once the doorbell rang, he tripped his way down the stairs before Robbie could answer it. 

Sure enough - ugh, Carmen. He’d overheard how she talked to his brother far too many times - how could a grown woman be such a bully! There she stood on the porch, nose already upturned, stick already firmly lodged up her ass. 

“Hi,” he said, focusing his attention on her ridiculous heels because the look in her eyes made him want to shrivel up and die. “Are you here for-”

Carmen breezed past him as if he didn’t even exist, shoes clopping on the wooden floor. She gazed around the room, unimpressed, before walking over to Roy. Radford watched Robbie fumble to pause the movie as she blocked the screen. “Reynold, it’s time to go,” she snapped, cocking her hip as she tapped her foot. “I texted you to wait on the porch.”

Roy avoided her gaze but stood up anyway, throwing the blanket he’d been curled up under aside. “Whatever,” he grumbled, “I didn't see it.”

“That just means you were too engrossed in watching this… slop, " Carmen hissed, waving her hand at the TV as the three boys rolled their eyes in unison. "Now let’s go, I don't want to be in this part of town any longer than I need to be.” She grimaced as she looked at Ross and Robbie but didn’t say anything about them before continuing. “It's unsafe .”

“Ma'am, if you’re worried about safety, might I remind you you’re in the sheriff’s house,” John’s monotonous voice called from the kitchen, and Radford couldn't help but snicker.

In response, Carmen sniffed and set a hand on Roy's slumped shoulders, leading him towards the door and slamming it shut behind them while Roy waved mournfully at his friends. 

When Radford finally turned back to the boys, Robbie was still glaring at the door. “She’s such a bitch,” he grumbled.

“Language,” Radford scolded, before sitting next to the boys. “You’re not wrong, though. my god, she needs an attitude adjustment.”

Ross muttered something to Robbie that Radford couldn't make out, and they both chuckled before resuming the movie. Radford leaned back against the cushions but soon noticed a silhouette peering through the sidelights. He squinted - was that Roy again? Wasn't he supposed to be leaving? Radford motioned for him to open the unlocked door, and seconds later, Roy flung the door open and settled back on the couch. 

“Our tires are flat,” Roy explained with a shrug before anyone could ask what was up. “Mom's waiting in the car for Dad an' the tow truck ‘cause she doesn’t wanna be in this ‘hovel’.”

“Charming.” Radford was about to make another cutting remark before he thought further on the situation. “Wait, all the tires?”

“I ‘unno.” Roy leaned back against the couch cushions and pulled the blanket back over himself. “But it means i can spend more time here!”

How likely was it for someone’s tires to go flat out of the blue? Carmen had clearly been fine driving over, after all. On the other hand, if Roy wasn't concerned, why should Radford be? He tried to focus his attention on the movie and the aroma of frying meat wafting into the living room. Maybe he could try eating dinner - maybe. After all, he'd been able to handle the Boys N' Grills burger even with the manager staring at him and Streber. 

Streber, who hadn't talked to him since they'd had lunch that day. 

And great , now he was worrying about something else. Never mind dinner, if his head wouldn't leave him alone there was no way his stomach would. 

He ran his fingers through his curly strands of hair with a heavy sigh, lightly tugging to keep himself focused. It didn't help that Paranormal Activity was far from his favorite movie series; he preferred slashers over anything like this. Found footage was rarely done in a way he liked which sucked because there was so much potential - but not enough for him to pay attention to this. That was one thing he could agree with Carmen on.

"Hey, dinner's almost done," John said after a few minutes, leaning out of the kitchen. He did a double take when he noticed Roy was still there. "Didn't you leave?"

"Yeah, an' I'll be leavin' soon, you don't gotta worry about me.'' Roy waved John away. "You guys go eat."

"Everything okay?" Roy shot John a warning glare and John exhaled heavily through his nose before looking over at Robbie. "You mind setting the table, kiddo?"

"Sure!" Robbie turned to Ross with a grin, shaking his fists excitedly. "You wanna eat with us, right?"

In response, Ross offered a thumbs up, and Robbie turned off the movie, joining John in the kitchen to help set up. This left Radford sitting awkwardly with Roy, who had pulled out his phone. Instead of staying, he went back up the stairs to let Hope know it was time for supper. He strode into her room and leaned over, pausing the Barbie movie. "Hey, sorry bud, but it's time for supper!" 

Hope glanced up from her coloring page, which had gained a new color in its palette since he'd last seen it. "That was fast!"

"Yeah, your dad kinda already started when I turned on the movie for you." Radford chortled as he ruffled her hair. "Before we go down, though, wanna tell me what's up with-" he cut himself off when he looked closer at the drawing, his face falling. He cleared his throat and looked back up when he realized he'd been silent for too long. "U-um, what's up with Sparkle?"

"She got hurt," Hope replied, frowning for a split second before rolling off her bed and skipping downstairs. 

Radford sat on the edge of his cousin's bed, picking up the coloring book. The previously cute, innocent coloring page had been sullied by deep red crayon, gashes drawn in the cartoon animal's side. Gashes that looked... too familiar. He couldn't help but wonder what she'd taken inspiration from. 

After closing the book, he rushed to Hope's window and yanked aside the purple curtains, peering toward the neighbor's house once again. He squinted at the open windows but didn't see anything concerning, only the neighbor washing dishes. So, Dexter hadn't done anything - yet , at least. He scanned the rest of the yard but couldn't see anything suspicious. 

So maybe Hope had just made it up, or maybe she'd come downstairs during a horror movie night - but the marks were still so uncannily familiar. In any case, he made a mental note to bring it up to John later. With luck, he wouldn't get reprimanded for being 'irresponsible'. 

He headed back to his own room, laptop tucked under his arm, and collapsed on his bed, reopening the screenplay to work on again. He let the sounds of clinking dishes, cutlery, and distant conversations serve as white noise as he wrote. Maybe when he finished this movie, it'd be the topic of discussion for another family's dinner in the future. 

Before he could get too into it, his creative flow was interrupted by loud, frantic knocking at the door, the doorbell ringing out once, twice, thrice throughout the tiny house. A fork clattered on the table and heavy footsteps followed. Radford pictured John in his mind's eye, gearing up to give whoever was at the door a piece of his mind. 

That is, until he heard yelling.

He slammed the laptop shut and hurried downstairs, greeted by a wide-open doorway, a sleek black car in the driveway, and-

Oh god. He tried to cover his mouth, but that only served to get vomit all over his hand. Still, that was nothing compared to the sight of Carmen's internal organs painting the driveway the same color as her dress, the same color as her name.

The first thing he knew he had to do was close the door, God dammit. John was outside with Roy's father but there was no way the kids could see this. He slammed the door and leaned his back against it, unsure of how he was going to explain away the vomit on the floor, on the front of his shirt, and still brewing in his stomach. Acting on a whim, he took his shirt off and mopped up his hand and the floor as the three boys walked in. 

"Hey, what's all this?" Robbie asked, tilting his head.  

Radford swallowed his spit even though the taste made him cringe and picked his shirt back up. "I, uh, I'm sick," he managed, gnawing at his lip. Shit, shit, shit. He was trying to play it cool, but his stomach and head were swirling, and he wasn't sure how long he could keep up this facade. "You guys should go eat. Let me clean."

"Gross." Roy wrinkled his nose but turned on his heel and sauntered back into the kitchen, Robbie and Ross lagging behind. 

Radford made sure he heard the sounds of supper again before he opened the door and stepped onto the porch. His stomach immediately twisted, every imagined stab the knife had to make into the aristocrat’s body making it even worse. He stumbled over to John, who was consoling a hyperventilating Richard while also trying to get into contact with Jack.

Radford didn’t know Richard very well, but he’d always been relatively put together whenever he saw him: hair slicked back, tie impeccable, the works. But that perfect Richard was gone now, fallen to pieces next to his ripped-to-pieces wife. Only half an hour ago she had been rolling her eyes at Radford, at her son. Now her eyes were rolling towards the sky, frozen in terror. 

Only when John put his phone down did he notice Radford. “Get back inside,” he ordered, pointing towards the house. 

Radford felt his face heat up. “W- but, John, what the fuck am I supposed to tell the kids when-” When what? When the parade of ambulances, police cars, and news vans showed up? When he couldn’t handle keeping this secret anymore? When Roy asked where his dad was, if he and his mom could go home yet? “What should I do ?”

“I just told you, go back inside,” John hissed again, still fighting with Richard to keep him away from the body. “And put a shirt on!”

Radford swayed where he was standing, feeling lightheaded the longer he had to look at the awful display. He couldn’t believe this had happened not only at his work but now at the supposed safety of his own home. And then his thoughts couldn’t help but turn to Robbie, or any of the boys for that matter, or Hope, or John…hell, it could’ve been Radford too, if he hadn’t run to the house on Halloween night, or even back at the theater. 

It was then, right as he was about to get caught in the tornado of his thoughts, that he heard the creak of the neighbor’s door swinging open and shut. And before he could really tell what he was doing, he thrust an accusatory finger at the exterminator, who was removing a pair of bloodstained gloves, whistling a cheerfully twisted melody as they walked down the neighbor’s sidewalk. 

“It was them ,” he yelled over the ringing in his ears. “ They did it!”

Chapter Text

“They’re not talkin’.”

Radford stared at the table as he tugged at the itchy collar of the shirt John had thrown at him earlier. He still smelled of vomit, but fortunately John had given him a cup of water to rinse out his mouth. Un fortunately, his uncle was the one conducting his interview this time, and Radford would’ve given anything to talk to Jack instead. In fact, he’d tried asking, but only received a stiff “no” in response. 

“They aren’t talking? Like, at all?” Radford finally looked up at John when his words caught up to him. If Dexter wasn’t talking, that’d be a first. 

John exhaled a smoky sigh and stubbed his cigarette in the nearby ashtray. “Nah, they’re talkin’ all right. But they’re not sayin’ anything important.” He settled down in the cushy chair across from Radford, his elbows on the wooden desk as his gaze roved over him. “But you still say they did it, right?”

Radford rubbed his arms. He hadn’t actually seen them do anything, but he couldn’t back out now - not when Dexter was in handcuffs somewhere down the hall - so he’d have to make this believable. “I really think they did,” he said after clearing his throat. “They were at both crime scenes, and this time they had blood on their hands.”

There was a thoughtful pause before John nodded, raking his hand through his balding brown hair. “We’re testin’ the blood to see if it matches…” He trailed off, glancing through the window at Richard and Roy, who were seated in the waiting area. It was just them in there, since Robbie, Ross, and Hope were in a different one. Roy looked like he’d seen a ghost, while Richard was as much of a wreck as he was back at the house. And of course he was - even though his wife was a bitch, they seemed to have had a lovely marriage. “But if that’s all you got, I'm afraid that’s not enough to hold ‘em. I can’t put them in prison ‘cause you ‘think’ they did something, you gotta know .”

Of course Radford knew that, yet he’d done it anyway. Great job being believable , he scolded himself, but he wasn’t sure how he could’ve been without lying. And he was no liar. 

There was a shifting of paper as John opened up a file folder that was stamped as confidential. After a moment, he pulled out a few pictures, sliding them towards Radford. It didn't take much looking for Radford to figure out what they were. “Can you tell me what’s similar about these scenes, kid?”

“That they’re really gross to look at?” Radford tugged at his collar again, feeling sweat beading beneath it. John inhaled sharply through his nose and Radford lowered his gaze back to his lap, realizing the joke was in poor taste. “I dunno. Just…the bodies looked the same. Sliced open down the middle.” 

There hadn’t been a night that Joe’s body hadn’t haunted his dreams, every grisly detail on display in the theater of his mind. Yes, the bodies had been sliced open - not just longways, but across the stomach, too. Carmen’s wound had been the same way, a bloody cross through which the perpetrator disemboweled her.

“Whoever killed these people was precise with their cuts, even though the rest of the scene was a mess.” John turned the pictures back to himself, but didn’t look at them. He'd seen the scenes enough to know them by heart, even the most recent one. “No hesitation marks - they knew what they were doing.”

Seemed like something Dexter would know how to do, Radford wanted to point out, but held himself back. Instead, he set his chin in his hand, feet tapping on the floor. He wasn’t sure why John was telling him this stuff as if he didn’t already know. “Do you think there’s any pattern?” he asked, his voice a barely audible croak. He hoped the pattern had nothing to do with him or Robbie. 

John scrutinized the photos for a moment, picking them up. “The pattern of who they’ve killed seems random so far, and yet…there’s two common denominators.” He squinted up at Radford, his expression unreadable through his mustache, the papers falling back to the desk with a rustle. “I don't think I need to tell you how bad this looks for you, kiddo.”

Radford gulped - so Streber was right . 

“Look,” John continued as he closed the folder. “I'm not sayin’ you did it, but we gotta cover all the bases. I know you, son, and you’re a good enough kid. But…”

Radford’s feet tapped faster on the floor, and he looked anywhere but at John - out the window into the waiting area, at the framed picture of Hope on John’s desk. Wait… Hope. He perked up in his chair, the photograph sparking the memory of her massacred coloring book - and how he’d only looked into the neighbor’s house when he was trying to find her inspiration! Maybe she had seen something, then! 

“Hey,” Radford spoke into the tense silence, bringing John back from his thousand-yard stare. “I um…I didn’t think about this earlier, but I think Hope could’ve seen something.”

“Huh?” John narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean, she ‘could’ve seen something’?”

Radford was trying his hardest not to stumble over his words, not liking how John glared at him. “Well…Hope’s room overlooks the driveway, right?” John nodded. “And I caught her drawing something sort of gorey-”

“Could’ve always been something from one of your scary movies,” John grumbled, pulling out his lighter and yet another cigarette. 

Radford coughed as the acrid scent wafted into his nose, not appreciating the backhanded comment. “No,” he managed to choke out, “it was the same marks as one of the bodies. She colored that cross shape.”

John nearly dropped his cigarette in shock before he pinched the bridge of his nose. “And you honestly didn’t think anything of it?”

“I told you, I just thought about it!”

John sent his chair screeching and bumping against the wall as he stood up, and before Radford could get another word in, his uncle was already out the door. Great, so not only were Streber’s suspicions confirmed, but now John was upset. Hopefully, he was grabbing Jack or something. After all, why would he have his deputy interviewing the clearly more likely suspect?

Because they probably aren’t the more likely suspect , Streber’s voice chimed in his ears, and if Radford wasn’t sweating already he was now, almost melting in his chair. Of course Streber had been right; Radford was surprised he hadn’t seen this coming from all the horror movies he watched, plus the cop shows, plus being related to a cop. He'd really fallen for the smokescreen even though he of all people should have known better. And it didn’t help that he was panicking, which probably made himself seem even more guilty, ugh!

He almost kicked the desk when John breezed back into the room, Hope trailing behind him. From the looks of her hands, she’d been coloring again - this time with markers. John patted the chair next to Radford and she sat down, criss-crossing her legs in the chair as John sank back into his own behind the desk.

“Hi, Rad,” Hope said, waving at Radford, who half-heartedly waved back.

“Okay.” John clicked his pen and opened the folder again, the pen's tip hovering inches from the paper. “Hope, Radford told me you drew a scary picture?”

He sounded much nicer now that he was talking to his daughter. Still, she wilted, picking at a scab on her leg she’d gotten on her trike the other day - a habit she’d picked up from Robbie. “Mhm.”

John tilted his head at her, chin settled in his hand. “Can you tell me why?”

“‘Cause i heard something outside,” Hope mumbled. It was almost like she knew she’d seen something wrong, but didn’t want - or know how - to say it. “I went to see what it was ‘cause it sounded bad an' saw Miss Carmen getting hurt.”

Radford didn’t miss the tears welling in her eyes and while he wanted to reach over and comfort her, this was sort of his fault in the first place. For not being too concerned, for not keeping her out of it... 

“Why didn’t you get anyone?” John asked, keeping his demeanor gentle, though Hope still recoiled when he asked. He probably didn’t even realize how he was coming off, but Radford could agree that he sounded accusatory, calm tone or not. 

“‘Cause I didn’t wanna bother anybody,” Hope replied, voice wavering. 

John’s shoulders slumped even further and he hung his head, staring at the blank paper before writing down what she said. It was clear he knew that thought process was his fault, but Hope wouldn't take it that way. “Did you see who hurt her?” 

Hope nodded, swinging her legs and kicking the desk. “Not real good…the bad guy had a mask on.” She plucked a notepad off the desk, starting to draw a box with a red ink pen from the cup. Given that she was six and still hadn’t perfected her fine motor skills, it was hard to tell precisely what she was drawing, but it did look like a simplified version of Dexter’s mask, perhaps if it was pulled up a bit over their mouth. Dexter had mentioned how uncomfortable the mask could get. Maybe they'd pulled it further up their face to allow better airflow during the murder. It was sure to be physically demanding, after all.

Hope finally finished the shoddy drawing and turned it to John, still sniffling and blinking back tears. She'd left multicolored fingerprints all over the paper from the magic marker staining her hands, and John took care not to touch those as he examined it before putting it in the file folder. 

“Thanks, Hope,” John finally said, before closing the folder. “That was very helpful.” He then offered Radford a respectful nod. “Looks like you might be off the hook, kiddo. I'm going to see if Dexter has that mask on 'em, and if Hope can confirm that’s the one she saw, I'd say it’s case closed." With that, he stood from his chair and left the room once again, leaving Radford and Hope in silence. 

At that moment it felt like all the stress from the past week was leaving Radford’s body. First of all, he wasn’t on the suspect list anymore, second of all if they’d already caught the killer, then he wouldn’t have to worry about anyone else getting killed. Much less him. Much less Robbie . The only real downside was the trauma he’d gained from finding two eviscerated bodies and being part of a murder investigation - also the fact Streber probably wouldn’t talk to him again after getting his killer best friend thrown in prison. But he’d cross those bridges when he came to them. He closed his eyes and leaned back in his seat before remembering Hope still sitting next to him, her Twinkle Toes still knocking against the wood of the desk. “Hey, you okay?”

Hope nodded and wiped her eyes with her sleeve. “I hate making him mad.”

“No, Hope, he wasn’t mad at you,” Radford tried to explain, because he knew exactly how Hope felt. “You know your dad can be a little grumpy, but it’s not 'cause he’s mad at you.”

“Are you sure?” Hope asked, furrowing her brows. “He looked mad.”

Radford thought of the best way to put it; after all, he far from wanted his little cousin to feel the same way he did about John. She had to be stuck with him for much longer than Radford did. “Um…this is just his job, and Miss Carmen getting hurt was serious, so he wants to make sure that the bad guy can’t hurt anyone else. Especially not you!” 

Hope still seemed unsure, but soon enough sat up in her chair. “I woulda told you, but I didn’t know if you’d believe it,” she explained. “Do you think if I did, Miss Carmen would get better?”

Well, that confirmed that she knew exactly what she’d seen. How awful. Radford just reached over and ruffled her long, curly hair before starting to braid it, knowing it was something that cheered her up since it reminded her of her mom. “If I keep growing my hair out, it’ll be as long as yours,” he snorted a few minutes after Hope’s sniffles ceased. “Would you braid mine if I did?”

“You’d look nice with braids,” Hope giggled, clearly trying to sit still, “even though you’d look like a girl.”

“What's wrong with looking like a girl?” Radford nudged her teasingly, taking one of his hair bands off his wrist and tying off the first braid. “ You’re a girl.” 

Hope kept laughing harder, her shoulders bouncing as she danced in her seat. Seemed he’d done his job in cheering her up. He started on the other braid with a smile, but it quickly faded as he heard a clamor in the other room. He dropped the section of hair and craned his neck to look out the office windows at Richard, who was jabbing an angry finger at John’s chest. 

“Your nephew said that that exterminator killed my wife!” Richard’s shouting was muffled through the glass. “Why are you prolonging this if you have a witness?”

John fell back, though his face remained stony. “We can’t find any evidence.”

So…Dexter didn’t have their mask with them? Radford tried to remember whether they’d had it on while leaving the neighbors’ or not. 

“What do you mean, ‘couldn’t find evidence’?” Richard threw up his hands in exasperation. “They had blood all over their hands!”

“You as a lawyer should know that isn’t enough to convict someone of murder, Richard,” John said calmly, crossing his arms. “We’re having it tested right now, but you also have to consider that they were just doing their job. We can hold them for twenty-four hours, but if we don’t get any more evidence, my hands are tied.”

Richard’s lips trembled, and he slicked the messy, stray strands out of his face. Finally, he hung his head, shrinking back. “I know, John. Sorry, I…” He looked down at Roy, who still looked just as shell-shocked, and set an awkward hand on his shoulder before peeking back at John. “I don't know what to do. She was just always around to tell me, and I know things are going to be really hard without her.”

John patted him on the back. “Look, we probably won’t have any answers today,” he said. “It might not be regulation, but if you and your son want to go home, I'm not gonna stop you.”

Richard straightened up and extended his hand to shake John’s. Afterward, he guided Roy out of the building with a hand on his back. Radford hoped Roy would be okay; he figured that even with bad parents, it could still be difficult to lose them. 

Radford glanced back at Hope, who was idly playing with the end of her braid. "Are you gonna finish my hair?" she asked, and Radford got right back to braiding, although he didn’t feel as calm doing it anymore.

Soon enough, his concentration was once again interrupted when John reentered the office with a heavy sigh. "I’m assuming you heard?"

“Yep.” Radford nodded, a little embarrassed that John knew he was eavesdropping. "So, Dexter doesn’t have their mask?"

"Nope. I checked them, checked their backpack… no mask," John grumbled, rolling his eyes. "Mighty convenient. We might have to recheck the first scene if the neighbor doesn’t let us search the house…see if we can get anything off those cameras."

Radford sighed. The cameras were always so dodgy, which was why they were in the middle of getting a new surveillance system at the theater - still, it was worth it to check. At least if they found footage of the crime, he’d be off the hook for sure. “You still keeping Dexter here overnight?”

“Yep, but you can leave,” John said, and Radford breathed a sigh of relief. Thank you, Hope, he thought to himself as he slid a hair tie on Hope’s other braid. “Take Hope and the other kids home. For all we know, Dexter knows a way around it, but we’ll try and run a polygraph test while we still can.”

“Ooo, a lie detector,” Radford joked, trying to lighten the mood, before pushing the braids over Hope’s shoulders. “There you go, Hope, real pretty. Ready to skedaddle?”

“Yeah!” Hope cheered, jumping out of her chair. Before she followed Radford out, though, she ran over to hug her dad, kissing him on the cheek before dashing off who knew where.

Radford noticed John smiling sadly after her - at least, until he caught Radford watching. He cleared his throat and dug out his wallet, pulling two crisp twenties out and passing them over the desk. “Feel free to order somethin’ from the Crust Corner,” John said. “The kids didn’t really like what I made ‘em.”

It was just fried meat, nothing too interesting, and Radford's stomach had started to grumble midway through questioning. All things considered, post-traumatic pizza sounded pretty good. With a nod and a small smile to John, he followed Hope to where she'd run off to and led her, Ross, and Robbie to the car.

However, he couldn't shake off his unease as they passed the interrogation room. He couldn't help but think Dexter was watching him through the blinds.

It took until then for him to realize that if he wasn't right about this, and Dexter was let go, he was thoroughly fucked.

Chapter Text

 The lobby was dead silent, save for the heavy clank of the doors closing behind them. It made Radford want to call out, shatter the quiet and make it a little less creepy. 

The theater had never looked as dismal to Radford. The neon lights in the room flickered dimly while specks of dust floated in the sunlight streaming through the windows. The popper was still half-full of fluffy, buttery popcorn, which, for all Radford knew, could be full of dead bugs by now. He grimaced as he watched a stray roach struggling on its back near his shoe and promptly crushed it with his heel, putting it out of its misery, as Jack and John made their way toward the office.

They were only there to check the tapes, he reminded himself as he lagged behind them. Nobody was accusing him anymore. He was going to be okay. After all, he was sure he hadn't killed Joe, so why was he so worried? Why were goosebumps spreading up and down his arms as he typed in the code to the office door?

The air in the office was stale, tinged with the putrid scent of rot, causing Radford to recoil as soon as he smelled it. He yanked his shirt collar over his nose and fumbled to find the light switch in the dark, unsure of what he would see when the lights came on. For all he knew, there was another body inside.

Once he flipped the switch, the overhead lights illuminated the cramped office, an open bag of candy on the desk, and a full trash can near the door. Yuck, but not the worst they could’ve found. He dragged the heavy can into the hallway before gesturing for Jack and John to go ahead of him, just in case that wasn’t the only source of the odor. 

The officers took their seats in front of the computer. John gave the mouse a wiggle, then leaned over to power up the tower, which hadn't been booted yet. After a moment, the computer loaded, displaying a blue welcome screen and prompting for a password. Both of them looked to Radford, who pointed toward the password written on a sticky note stuck to the left side of the screen. John entered the password, drumming his fingers lightly on the keyboard as the computer unlocked.

“So the app the cameras are connected to is the one with the spyglass,” Radford guided, leaning over his uncle's shoulder and tapping the icon.

“You don’t say.” John rolled his eyes and double-clicked on the icon. The program started to load, the name of the security system appearing briefly on the screen before the security feeds came into view, revealing a black-and-white image of them in the office. It seemed to be delayed by a few seconds, since the video still showed Radford tapping at the unopened app. John’s brows furrowed, and he clicked the left and right arrows to find the camera for theater six. 

“I'm telling you, it’s probably not gonna show anything,” Radford warned before John finally found the view labeled Channel06 - which unsurprisingly only showed static. “See?”

In response, John grunted something barely audible and clicked on the slider at the bottom of the screen, turning back the clock on the footage. Radford sighed and stepped back, but not before grabbing the candy bag and chucking it in the trash can, gummi worms spilling throughout the pile as he did. He may as well go ahead and take it out, since it was stinking up the hall and they’d likely be there for hours. Going through the feeds was sure to be slow, given how laggy and dodgy the system was - and they’d have to go back over a week at least. He dragged the trash can along the hallway to the back door, using his elbow to push it open and kicking the doorstop to keep it from closing and locking on him. He tossed the bag into the dumpster before going back inside.

Before he could head back to the office, though, he couldn’t help but hover outside the caution-taped doors. 

If the theater ever reopened, would they let anyone go in there? Would they remodel it, trade in the carpets for some that were less blood-soaked? Or would anyone even want to be in this auditorium again after what had happened? 

Who was he kidding. It’d become a novelty, a tourist destination. People ate this sort of shit up - including him, at least before he got involved in all of this. He, too, used to enjoy the screams, the desperate pleads of the poor victims in the movies… 

…Things he hadn’t heard at all, now that he thought about it. He thought back to the night of the first murder - he and Streber had been able to hear Patty and John pretty clearly through the door, so why hadn’t he heard any screams, especially since the door would’ve been open at that point? Maybe the killer caught Joe by surprise because it was someone he knew, and didn't know to scream until it was too late. Or…

He hurried back to the office, where Jack and John were still hovering over the computer. 

“Guys, I think he cut their throats first,” Radford exclaimed, leaning against the door frame with one hand as he struggled to catch his breath.

“How d’ya figure?” John muttered, still focused on the cameras. It looked like he was currently on November 2nd, so it was going faster than Radford assumed it would've.

“‘Cause they didn’t scream, either time. So the killer must’ve cut their throats first so they couldn’t.” John still looked unimpressed, and Radford threw his hands in the air. “Doesn’t that tell you something about the killer’s ‘psyche’ or whatever?”

Jack glanced at John and shrugged. “He is right, John. That's an important detail.”

After a moment of prolonged eye contact with the deputy, John removed his hand from the computer mouse and faced Radford. “Technically it's classified, but...Patty’s still examinin’ both bodies, so we’ll have to see if it’s the same for Carmen, too.” 

So Radford had been right? The throat wound was the oldest, at least on Joe? 

John scratched his chin as he continued to ponder. “But if he was tryin’ to keep 'em quiet, why would he leave such a spectacle? Why kill and leave the bodies where anyone can walk in, walk by? It makes no sense.”

That was another good point. Radford felt something, that same deja vu, itching at the back of his brain - but before he could overthink it, he noticed something on the screen behind John’s head - a crowded theater. They’d finally reached Halloween night, and there was Joe in the front row, hands shoved in his hoodie pockets. Radford, however, was focused on Dexter, who was seated in the back, fidgeting about. The footage was still grainy, but it wasn’t simple static like it had been before, almost as though this footage wanted to be seen. 

John paused it before fast-forwarding at two times the speed, and they all watched as Joe sat through the movie, alternating between having his hands in his pockets and playing on his phone. He looked pretty bored - so maybe Radford wouldn’t end up watching the movie. Then again, Dexter seemed more than pleased, on the edge of their seat in every sense of the term. 

Finally the rest of the audience started to clear out, and that was when all three of them leaned closer to the screen, waiting for someone - in Radford’s case, Dexter - to peel off and attack Joe.

But…nothing happened. Joe got up after a minute of playing on his phone. John started to speak before suddenly, something shoved Joe back into the frame, the corner he’d come from growing fuzzy. The teenager was panicking, but the second he tried to open his mouth to call for help, the screen filled with static yet again - and it only cleared once Joe was slumped in the same seat Radford found him in.

“Dammit,” John swore, looping the feed back a few seconds as Radford danced in place, his stomach swirling. But the same thing happened every rewind - the static just so happened to fuzz out whoever had attacked Joe. 

“It's okay, John,” Jack reassured before John could rewind it a fourth time, taking the mouse, switching out of the Camera06 view, and pressing pause.

“Um,” Radford cut in, pointing to the feed they were currently on: a view of the hallway outside the auditorium. “We haven't looked to see if maybe they - the killer , I mean - is on any of the other cameras. They could’ve been coming in as Joe was coming out.” 

John pinched the bridge of his nose and nodded, gesturing for Jack to go ahead and test Radford’s theory. So Jack rewound a few minutes before Joe’s attack, right when everyone started flooding the hallways - but Dexter hung back. At first, Radford was confident they were about to turn to go back to the theater- that was, until Streber barreled down the hallway. Instead of going to the bathroom like he said he had to, Streber dragged the bench Radford had used back to its proper spot, then followed Dexter out the back door. 

He didn't miss the way John and Jack exchanged glances - nor did he miss the unpleasant twinge in his gut as he watched Streber bounce out the door with the exterminator. Hell, he even offered to carry their bag . They lugged that bag around all the time, why would they need someone to help them with it! He waited a little longer and eventually Streber walked back inside with a huge grin, making a beeline for the bathrooms. Radford was almost crossing his fingers for Dexter to come through the back door, but before he knew it, he saw his past self walking down the hallway to clean up the theater, only moments later running towards the lobby. Streber walked out of the bathroom, still smiling, as if he hadn’t heard any yelling, and followed in Radford's footsteps. 

What’s he doing? Radford thought as he watched his friend stroll along, right as John muttered, “Follow him.”

Jack switched cameras, following Streber through the fuzzy cameras until he finally ended up in the same office they were in, watching the open security cameras and kicking his feet up on the desk. He pulled something out of his pocket - looked like a keychain, but Radford couldn’t tell what was on it - and swung it round and round his finger as he opened the bag of gummi worms Radford had thrown out earlier. Those must have been the ones Radford had gotten for his birthday, he realized.

Streber clicked through the feeds idly, as if he was picking a channel to watch, before landing on Channel06. He leaned in closer, peering at the dead body which at that point would’ve been splayed on the floor. Radford watched Streber's hand pause in the candy bag, watched the keychain fly off his finger and land somewhere out of sight; he must have realized what he was looking at. Then, he made eye contact with the camera before returning to the computer and the next thing Radford knew, that footage had fizzled to nothing, too. 

Radford saw his reflection blinking back at him in disbelief within the static. But Streber had been fine up until Jack had accused Dexter. He certainly hadn’t behaved like he'd seen anything of what happened - but who was Radford kidding, Streber was an actor. He was great at pretending he was fine when he wasn’t. 

He was so busy trying to connect the pieces, he didn't realize that Jack and John had turned to face him. It wasn't until Jack leaned in front of the screen that he noticed. “You okay, Radford?”

Radford nodded, even though his world seemed to be melting, even though his head felt like a bowling ball because of how dizzy he was. He tried to keep himself upright and stumbled to one of the storage cabinets for the office, taking a random thumb drive and plugging it into the computer tower. “You can uh…use one of these to download this footage if you wanna,” he managed to mumble, forcing a smile. “It shouldn’t have anything else on it.”

“You wanna get some air, kiddo?” John asked, reaching out a hand for whatever reason even though they both knew he wouldn’t comfort him. 

“Yeah, yeah, sure.” Radford sucked in a breath and turned around - but before he left the room, he spotted Streber’s keychain in the back corner. Quietly, he knelt and scooped it up, the keyring jingling before he silenced it with his palm - wow, the charm was soft. Then, he backed out of the room, leaving Jack and John to download the incriminating footage to the drive.

As soon as he returned to the lobby, he glanced down at the keychain, grabbing the ring and allowing the bauble to dangle in front of his face. Except it wasn’t a bauble, it was a black paw. He swallowed hard, hoping it was fake - but with Dexter’s weird track record with animals, there was no way it wasn’t real. Once again he found his stomach tied in knots and jammed the keychain into his pocket, leaving the musty theater to sit on the benches outside. 

Why had Streber been in the office in the first place? He knew his friend preferred to hide in quiet spots after busy days, but he hadn’t seemed upset, nor had he been in a hurry to get there. Maybe he’d just been waiting on Radford, but why wouldn’t he tell him where he was? He tried to remind himself there was no way Streber had intended to mess with the security feeds, at least at first, but a darker side of Radford argued that if he had , then he must’ve known who’d done it, who’d killed Joe and Carmen - and he was purposefully covering it up.

Radford sucked in a breath to calm his heart, which seemed to be trying to beat out of his chest. As much as he didn't want them to, the pieces fit together; still, there was no need to worry about it right then. But before he could get too comfortable with the low hum of cars meandering up and down the street, Radford inhaled the noxious odor of someone’s cigarette smoke and exhaled a swear, turning away from the unwanted guest who had just walked up. Shit , the last thing he needed right now was to be near one of Streber’s other other friends, especially after what he’d just seen. 

But still, Ethan leaned against the wall beside the bench, nodding at him in greeting. “Hey, Radford. Why’re you sitting out here?”

It was then that he realized they probably would have walked right past without noticing if he hadn’t said anything; after all, it seemed they just wanted to small talk. Radford glanced behind him at the closed sign in the theater. “Have you been living under a rock?”

“No.” Ethan tilted their head, eyes narrowing with curiosity. “Just wondering what you’re up to since the theater’s closed. Are your shift’s just…sitting outside now?”

Radford chuckled half-heartedly, coughing a bit when Ethan took another puff of their cigarette. “Nah. And sorry, can you put that thing out? I hate those.”

“Whoops, I forgot.” Ethan tossed the cigarette on the ground and stamped it out with one of their gaudy shoes. 

“Thanks.” Radford leaned back against the warm metal of the bench, placing a hand over his keys, trying to signal that he’d been about to go - even though that was far from the truth. Maybe he should’ve just waited in his truck in the first place. “John’s in there inspecting the security feeds, and they needed my help to get in. Typically they’d talk to the manager before doing all that, but I'm the closest thing to a manager in town right now.”

Ethan chuckled, continuing to play with their hair, brushing their fingers through the red strands. “Tch, the actual one on another vacation?” 

“Yep!” Radford unclipped the carabiner from his belt and dangled the keys to the building in his hand. “So, y’know, keyholder for the week.”

“I see.” Ethan watched the keys glint in the sunlight for a second before folding their arms over their chest. “So, it’s actually good that I have you here. I have a question.”

Oh god, not again. Radford shoved the keys back in his pocket and turned away from them. “No, I won't be the geek to your goth.”

“Um, no, that wasn’t the question. You’ve gotta let that go.” They shifted in their boots, scuffing them on the pavement. “I was just wondering if you’ve heard from Streber.”

Huh - so Ethan hadn’t heard from him either? Radford thought Streber was avoiding him because he was mad. Alarm bells started to clang in Radford’s head because if Streber wasn’t talking to anyone , did that mean something bad had happened to him? He pulled out his phone and opened his text conversation with Streber - he hadn’t responded to or even read any messages since they’d met at Boys N’ Grills. “No, he hasn’t said anything - not over the phone, or directly or anything.” 

Ethan nodded, their fingers twitching like John’s did when he was itching for a cigarette. “Okay. I just figured I'd ask, since he…yeah.” They gritted their teeth, and Radford wondered what that last bit meant before Ethan spoke up again. “Uh, take care, I guess. Text me if you hear anything.” 

Despite knowing he’d deleted Ethan’s number, along with anyone else he wasn’t really friends with, a day after high school graduation, Radford gave them a thumbs up. He sat on the street and stared at the now-darkened screen of his phone, listening to the cars until Jack and John came out. He locked the door behind them without a word, and John checked his watch before resting a hand on Radford’s shoulder. “Hey, kiddo?” 

“Yeah?” Radford replied, throat dry as he clipped the keys back on his belt loop with shaky hands.

He noticed Jack and John exchanging another glance in his peripheral vision before Jack continued where John left off. “It's been twenty four hours,” he said, “and we still don’t have any proof that Dexter did it.”

Radford knew that was coming. “But what about the blood?” 

“It was from a rat.” Jack ducked his head with an apologetic smile. “We got the results back this morning. But…we still needed to see if the cameras caught anything useful, at least to get a glimpse of the killer, and all we saw was Dexter leaving the premises before the murder happened.”

But they hadn’t even found Dexter’s mask, Radford wanted to argue. Wasn’t it suspicious that Dexter didn’t have something they typically carried everywhere with them? 

“I'm sorry,” Jack interrupted his thoughts, “we have to let them go.”

As if to add insult to injury, John spoke up. “And we’ll be bringin’ in your friend for questioning. Maybe he didn’t kill anyone, but if he did what we all think he did, he's about to be in a world of hurt.”

Although he nodded like he understood, inside Radford was torn. He felt terrible for selling out his friend, but at the same time, there was no denying that Streber knew precisely what happened but played dumb anyway. And it hurt - sure, it wasn’t like he was the killer or anything, but projecting his insecurities onto Radford, making him think he was the prime suspect even though Streber had been the one hiding things...especially with how anxious they both knew Radford could get, it just felt unfair.

As Radford walked to his truck, he felt the weight of the paw keychain in his pocket and cringed. It must have been a birthday gift from Dexter now that he thought about it. As much as it freaked him out, though, Radford couldn’t bring himself to dump it.

He settled in the front seat, but before he turned the key, he lowered his gaze back to his phone and sighed, tapping on the voice-to-text button and composing a simple ‘ you okay? ’ before sending it off.

It probably wasn’t good that now, he was uncertain whether he wanted an answer.

Chapter Text

“...And now breaking news for the small town of Los Ocultos: despite the looming threat of what some are calling ‘The Showbiz Killer’, the stars of The Box Cutter and The Box Cutter II are still stopping by their hometown on their post-release press tour. I guess that goes to show you, no matter how big you get, you can never forget where you came from.”

Click. 

With that, the only light in Streber’s apartment went out, leaving the room bathed in eerie darkness. The blackout curtains waved in the slight breeze from the vents, and while occasionally a sliver of sunlight would peek through, it wasn’t enough for Radford to see his friend properly. They sat on opposite ends of the sofa, Radford leaving ample space between them to make things less awkward - now, he was convinced that was counterproductive. Too late now. 

After the sound of the newscast finally echoed away, Streber glanced across the piles of laundry on the couch, eyes glittering in the dark. “So, why’d you need to talk to me so bad?”

“I just haven’t heard from you lately.” Radford opted to stretch the truth a little rather than tell Streber outright that he was now considered an accessory to murder. Then Radford had to wonder: if he was knowingly talking to an accessory to murder, would that make him one, too? He swallowed, trying not to overthink it, as the paw keychain burned a hole in his pocket. “So, what’ve you been up to?”

“Trying to find other jobs. Watching the news.” Streber leaned over, plucking a notebook from the messy coffee table and flipping through it. “I can’t believe there’s already been another murder - but on the bright side, at least Katie Croft and Orion Scar are visiting to take advantage of this press opportunity. Whoopee for us , right?”

At least his sarcasm was still intact, Radford mused to himself before flicking on the lamp next to the couch. As soon as he did, he wanted to turn the lights off again; the apartment looked like it'd just narrowly survived a tornado. Aside from the dirty clothes piled around the floor, bong water stained the couch and there were open bags of gummies and chips on every surface. Streber himself looked awful, his dramatic, spiky hair rendered droopy and greasy. The bags under his eyes and the smudged eyeliner were as usual, but didn’t appear intentional. Radford couldn’t stand seeing him like this, but felt selfish for feeling that way - after all, he wasn’t the one feeling the pain. 

Then again, maybe what Streber was feeling was guilt from tampering with the evidence. 

Before he could stop himself, Radford blurted what he was thinking while he looked around the room. “So, uh, you trying to lure the roaches from work here?” Streber raised an unimpressed eyebrow. Shit , he shouldn’t have said that. “Um, sorry.”

Streber shrugged. “I mean, you aren’t wrong, the place is disgusting. I just can’t get the energy to clean it up.” He made eyes at the medication bottles on the table and Radford shrunk back in his seat, a little ashamed. Still, whether or not this supposed flare-up was causing Streber’s abnormal behavior didn’t matter - it was barely an excuse for what he’d been doing in the office. 

“I could help you, if you want,” Radford offered, but Streber shook his head. 

“Don’t enable me, Rad.” He chuckled, although it sounded bitter. “Anyway, you’re not here to help me do my chores. You asked what I was up to, and, well, this is what I’ve been working on.” He turned the notebook he was leafing through in Radford’s direction. It took a second for Radford’s eyes to adjust, but it looked like a list of every possible overlap in the crime scenes. 

“You got all that from the news?” Radford asked as he gawked at the page. He reached out to take the notebook to read Streber's tiny, loopy handwriting better, but it was jerked away before he was able. 

“Yeah. The police are scrambling to keep all this out of the press, but they’re not very good at it.” Streber snorted. “Carmen’s family will probably try and sue the news station. And honestly - I hate to say it because I hate that family - but good! The news profits off of people’s pain. Just like true crime shows and movies. It’s always good to be in the know, but let’s be real: they’re not actually trying to help people.” 

Radford decided to not point out that his friend was being hypocritical by continuing to watch the news - after all, he already knew that. Besides, now that he got Streber talking, he wouldn't shut up for a while, which meant he might let something slip.

“It’s like this whole thing with the movie stars still visiting. Sure, they’re ‘visiting their hometown’, but it’s still fishy that they’re visiting during all this mess.” Streber crossed his arms after setting the notebook in his lap, giving it a satisfactory nod. “I think this whole thing is an elaborate scheme for the movie to get more views. Like, a publicity stunt by the team or something? Y’know, I saw a Criminal Minds episode where this guy’s manager arranged kills to promote his new album. And it happens more than you’d think, like musicians doing crazy shit before dropping new music…not necessarily killing people, but you know-”

Radford couldn’t believe this was actually coming out of Streber’s mouth, because it was clear he was bullshitting. “You really think that’s what’s going on?” Radford dug in his pocket, clutching the keychain in his palm. 

“Um…” Streber peered at him. “Yeah? I mean, it’s possible. There’s people evacuating town over this whole thing, but suddenly two celebrities want to come here as part of their ‘press tour’? Which, by the way, don’t even get me started on how ridiculous that is. If it’s a ‘press tour’, what ‘press’ do they think they'll get here? If they want press so bad, they should go to LA, not LO.”

Radford couldn’t take it anymore and finally pulled the keychain out of his pocket. He tossed it over to Streber, whose face paled more. “Where’d you get this?” he asked, snapping the notebook shut before closing his hand around the keychain, the paw pressing against his palm. 

He’d asked calmly, and his hands weren’t shaking - still, he wasn’t babbling anymore, and as collected as he was trying to seem, it was clear to Radford that Streber already knew what he was about to say. “I got it in the office,” he explained, brushing his sweaty hands on his jeans. “It’s a birthday gift, right? Why was it in there?”

Streber tore a sliver of skin from his lips with his teeth, chewing it for far too long before answering. “I was waiting for you to finish up. The roaches and chemical smells made me sick, so I went somewhere I couldn’t smell them.”

Now that Radford thought back, there had been roaches in the break room as well. And with how Streber had been scratching at his arms, it was clear he was bugged by them, so the office would have been the safest bet. Nevertheless: ”I know what I saw on the cameras, Streb.” Radford hoped that’d be enough to make Streber confess on the spot, but his friend just shrugged in response. Rather than beat a dead horse, he mustered what little confidence he had and told Streber precisely what he'd seen. “But then you went to the office and saw Joe on the cameras, and now all the footage of the killer - and of you - is just static.” 

Streber scrunched up his face, seeming genuinely shocked about what Radford was implying. Too shocked, almost, as he choked out a laugh. “Come on, Rad, you know the cams are dodgy-”

“Yeah, but I dunno, it’s just too perfect to be a coincidence.” Radford tried to meet Streber’s gaze, although his friend seemed increasingly nervous by the second. “Look, I’m trying to give you the benefit of the doubt here, dude. John doesn’t know I’m here, he thinks I’m at the store. But he’s planning on bringing you in to ask you all this same shit. So please, as my friend, be honest with me here.”

There was a moment of silence when their gazes locked, Streber’s deep brown eyes meeting Radford’s cloudy green ones. Finally, Streber hung his head and nodded. “Okay, you’re right. I was looking at the cameras - but I promise you, nothing I did had anything to do with erasing evidence.”

Radford knew he could have been lying - after all, he’d been omitting the fact he'd seen the body from every discussion they’d had about the murders. He tried not to feel relieved too soon and cleared his throat. “So what were you doing?”

“Trying to entertain myself as I waited, at first. I also wanted to see how far along you were so we could go home, ‘cause you were taking so long.” Streber shifted on the couch, knocking his knuckles against his knees. “Then I saw the body, and right as I did, I heard something, like someone walking past the office door. Right about that time, the camera in the office started making some weird sounds, too. You know how they always hum? Well, the light on it started blinking like crazy and then it made a really loud buzz sound. Like, bzzzzzt .”

As believable as Streber was trying to make his whole spiel sound, it just sounded bizarre . Radford was glad he kept asking questions. 

“Then the footsteps stopped. Right outside the door. What I’m guessing you missed was me trying to see who was standing out there, but the cameras in that hallway were fucked, too.” Streber seemed to notice Radford’s look of disbelief, because he pressed his fingers to his temples, frustrated. “Come on . You really think I’m stupid enough to mess with the cams and leave evidence of me being in the office? You know me better than that, Rad.”

“So, you’re trying to tell me that the killer was tampering with the cameras?”

“I’m trying to tell you that whoever it was may’ve been jamming the signal.” Streber picked up his notebook again and flipped through a few pages before poking at more of his borderline unreadable handwriting. “Look, of course there’s the big jammers that can affect the entire building, but there’s also pocket-sized ones you can carry around with you. They’re tiny, but mighty. You can use those to interrupt any signal if it's at the same frequency.” 

Radford arched an eyebrow. That sounded pretty far-fetched - then again, Streber had also suggested the whole thing could be a ‘publicity stunt’. Next thing he knew, Streber could be pulling out a tinfoil hat. 

“Also, let’s be honest. If I had messed with the footage, then it wouldn’t show static or ‘no signal’ screens, there’d be cuts. I thought you would know that out of anyone.” Streber looked down at his lap, stopping his knocking in favor of digging his chipped-polish nails into the black jeans he wore. “I’m kinda hurt you think I’d do that. Well, more that you think I’m that stupid .”

Of course Streber would have known that turning off the cameras wouldn't have deleted the pre-existing footage. Not to mention, the static didn't appear immediately as if someone had made cuts; it was gradual, even during Joe’s murder. The static seemed to move across the screen, following the path of the killer.

“Hmmm…” He tilted his head to the side, trying to stay calm even though he felt like smacking himself. “Did you look through the past feeds at all?” Streber nodded. “So that means you know what the static looked like during Joe’s…well, you know . So if someone were to have a signal jammer on them, do you think it’d have a gradual effect, like slowly take over the camera feed, or would it just conk it out?”

Streber gnawed on his lip again in thought, blood bubbling up from the mark he left in the thin skin. Ouch. “I think I know what you’re referring to. Like, how the static seemed to move around the room? I’ve never seen a jammer used for cameras, ‘cause it’s usually used for phone and radio signals. But if I were to wager a guess, it wouldn’t look like that.” 

Radford leaned over, handing a tissue from the box to Streber so he could blot at his lip, but Streber just waved it away and licked it up. Fair enough, it was his blood. “Okay, so what do you think could do that? ‘Cause if you didn’t, and a jammer didn’t…”

“I don’t know,” Streber mumbled as he gazed at his lap. “I really don’t know. But I do know that I had nothing to do with it, and Dexter had nothing to do with it either. So I hope you know that now, too.”

Noticing his discomfort, Radford decided to change the topic after a few quiet moments. “Dexter’s getting out today. Right now, I think.”

“Glad to hear it.” Streber suckled at his lip, slumping against the couch's back cushions as he picked up the paw keychain again. “They might not have the best judgement, but after a job like that, they wouldn’t have to kill anything else. Their needs would’ve been fulfilled.”

Radford shifted a little closer to his friend, feeling too distant where he was now that everything was, tentatively , okay. “Yeah, I’ve been meaning to ask, how exactly does that work?”

Streber shook his head, though he offered Radford the first genuine smile he’d seen from anyone in days. But instead of making Radford feel better, it only made him feel worse that he hadn’t trusted in him in the first place. “I shouldn't be the one to tell you. But thanks for trying to understand.”

“Yeah, yeah, of course.” Radford glanced around the room with a soft sigh. “Well, that was all from me - can I help you clean up now ?”

“I mean, if you really want to.” Streber hooked the keyring to his belt and, with a grunt, pushed himself off the couch. Radford didn’t miss how he winced before covering it with a silly smirk. “Just a warning, though, there might be some underwear in those piles.”

“Oh no, not underwear !” Radford joked, before clearing some of the food packages and containers off the table. Even though he made the joke, he figured that was a silent request for him to stick with picking up only non-clothing items. He went to Streber’s kitchen and grabbed a garbage bag so he wouldn’t have to go back and forth to throw stuff out.

So maybe, like with Radford, none of Streber’s weird behaviors had been associated with guilt. They were both anxious people, but they handled those issues in different ways - Radford by trying not to think about them, and Streber trying to learn more about them. Hence the massive notebook already chock full of theories, ideas, notes, and what he’d seen so far. Plus, he was watching the news, which he hated. 

“So, you saw Joe on the cameras - did anything about the way he was killed seem familiar to you?” Radford asked once the room was mostly cleaned up. He’d opened the blackout curtains and the windows to make it less stuffy; a lot of dust was flying around, especially after taking the vacuum to the floors. “Something about it seems familiar, but I can’t put my finger on it.”

When Streber didn’t answer, he glanced over, finding him taking some of his meds. Once he swallowed them down with a disgusted look, he tapped his foot in thought, then shook his head. “Oh, I didn’t get to see Joe that well - once again, the cameras are super shitty. I could just tell there was lots of blood.”

Radford frowned and picked up Streber’s notebook, which he tensed at. “Hey, it’s okay, dude. I just wanted to draw what the bodies look like, is that chill?”

Streber took the notebook and flipped to a blank section, then held it out to Radford. He took it and scribbled the best human body he could manage, before drawing a cross down the torso and a slash across the neck. 

“That is pretty familiar,” Streber said after scrutinizing the drawing. He ran his index over the sketched wounds. “That’s a good thing to make note of, I just can’t focus on that while I’m cleaning.”

“It’s okay,” Radford chuckled, gently setting the notebook down and elbowing Streber. “That’s why I’m here.”

The two continued to clean for a good few minutes before they heard a sharp, rhythmic knock at the door that made Streber’s broom fall with a clatter. Radford froze up almost immediately - there was only one other person he knew that could make Streber act quite like he was now. 

And sure enough, that was who stepped through the door: none other than Dexter Erotoph. To Radford’s surprise, though, Dexter only waggled their fingers at him before giving Streber a stiff hug. 

“That was annoying,” they groaned once the hug was over, rolling their eyes and inviting themself to sit on Streber’s newly-cleaned-off (but still stained) couch. “Thanks to Popcorn Head , I had to do one of those lie detector tests and drink room temperature tap water all night. The worst part is that I was just getting used to not being there.”

Radford realized that meant they’d been picked up before, which wasn’t that surprising. “Yeah, uh, sorry about that,” he stuttered, and even though the apology was shit, he hoped it’d keep him from being called Popcorn Head (or being in mortal danger) again. 

As if it meant nothing, Dexter waved his apology away. “Always looking for a reason to cart me off. Deputy Jack isn’t a fan, so needless to say, I gave him a hard time. I passed the polygraph with flying colors, too.” They gestured vaguely at the drawing in Streber’s still-open notebook. “Still a shame, though. I guess I can’t say I’m the biggest Box Cutter fan anymore.”

Radford was about to apologize for getting them thrown in jail yet again before their words finally settled in his brain. Wait, what?

“What do you mean?” he echoed aloud, whipping to look at the exterminator. 

“...The killer’s signature is textbook Box Cutter,” Dexter said, an inquisitive chuckle falling from their lips. “What, you guys didn’t figure that out?”

Radford’s eyes widened, taking a sharp breath as it all flooded him at once. 

On both bodies, there was one cut down the middle, two cuts across - one on the neck, the other on the stomach. Their entrails were spread everywhere, just like a box that had been unpacked and cast aside. 

And through the fog of Radford’s epiphany, all he could really think about was that, throughout all of this, he should have known better.

Chapter Text

  A day later, Radford still couldn't understand how he'd missed it. 

Back when it was just a movie, he'd taken Robbie to the theater to see the first Box Cutter - after all, the first one was only PG-13. Back when it was just a movie, it hadn't been either of their favorites, but they'd had a fun time anyway, sharing a big tub of popcorn and laughing at some of the more cheesy practical effects. Now, as he looked at the Box Cutter poster beside the others on his wall, the popcorn of his memories bloodstained, he couldn't help but feel the shiver running down his spine for once.

He ripped the poster from the wall and set it facedown on his desk, hiding the crazed smile of the titular slasher away. Then, he left his bedroom, closing his door and bathing it in a deep blue darkness that he hoped nothing would come out of. 

As he descended the stairs, he heard the quiet plucks of Ross' bass in time with his footsteps, and Robbie muttering to himself. He found his brother on his laptop, which he'd been looking for, and frowned. "Robbie."

The laptop was almost immediately snapped shut, but not before Robbie clicked out of some tabs. "Sorry," he blurted, avoiding eye contact as he stared at the shiny laptop logo. 

"Uh…what were you doing?" he asked; it was pretty rare for his brother to act like that. Robbie just shrugged and handed it over, still not looking up from his lap, while Ross yawned and kept tuning his bass. Radford took the computer and opened it back up. "Rob, you know I'm just gonna check the search history."

Robbie mumbled something under his breath, his freckled cheeks reddening as Radford wiggled the mouse and clicked the search history button. Unfortunately, he only found the exact thing he'd been trying to run away from. 

"You're trying to pirate Box Cutter II ?"

Now, Radford had nothing against pirating movies, but pirating movies he hadn't seen , especially ones that were being played out in real time by a real life sicko, were off-limits in his book. So when Robbie stuttered out a little 'yes', he couldn't help but huff out a long, loud sigh. 

"Not today, okay?" he managed, and Robbie nodded. "I thought you two were doing homework together." Again, his brother nodded and hugged his knees to his chest, settling his chin on them. With that, Radford carried the laptop to the kitchen, not wanting to return to the horror show in his bedroom, and found Streber checking the fish sticks he'd thrown in the oven a few minutes ago.

Speaking of, after sticking by his alibi earlier in the day and likely talking them in circles, Streber had been cleared by Jack and John - and since it was going to be a late night at the station for a briefing, some one had to keep an eye on the teenagers to make sure they didn't sneak out and cause trouble. Sure, Roy was sitting shiva, which meant there was less likelihood of that, but with everything happening Radford didn't want to take any chances. 

"So, you're still set on me staying the night?" Streber asked, serving them both some fish sticks with a spatula. 

Radford picked one up, only to drop it when he felt how hot it was. He didn't miss how Streber snickered and, after elbowing him in the ribs, he answered. "I already told you, I'm not comfortable watching the kids by myself."

"'Cause you're afraid your weak nerd arms won't do anything?" Radford shot him a look, while Streber rolled his eyes and continued, "I dunno if you've noticed, but I'm on three different medications to keep me feeling slightly less than shitty. I can't do much either." 

"Well, you also haven't eaten much for the past while. I'm sure you'll be back to SuperStreb in no time." Radford smiled at him, though it fell away when he noticed Streber's expression bordering on a grimace. 

Right before he was about to ask if he was okay, though, a new voice rang through the kitchen. "'SuperStreb'? That's dumb." Dexter slid into the seat between Streber and Radford, plucked a fish stick right off the searing pan, and popped it into their mouth. "So, what's on the laptop? 

Oh, yeah. And Dexter was there. The minute Radford mentioned he and Streber possibly going over the case, they'd invited themself along, saying they'd help in exchange for food and Radford's poster. Hopefully, they'd be okay with it being slightly ripped. "Uh, nothing, my brother was just trying to pirate the movie."

"What, Box Cutter II ?"

Radford almost wished Dexter had gotten picked off by the Box Cutter while they were freshening up. "Yes, Box Cutter II ."

"Well, you know, since I'm the only one who saw it, it might be a good idea for you two to brush up on it," Dexter pointed out, and without asking, they pulled Radford's computer over and clicked on the link to the pirating site, which led to three immediate redirects. There was no way his laptop wasn't full of viruses now. Then again, maybe that wouldn't be the worst outcome - the last thing Radford wanted to watch was Box Cutter II , especially since he was already living through a real-life reenactment.

"I don't want to watch it," Radford blurted before they could click 'play', starting confidently but trailing into a murmur when he noticed Streber's concerned look.

The exterminator rolled their eyes and pressed play anyway, the click of the mouse resonating through the now-quiet kitchen. "You're going to see something in a few minutes that's gonna make you want to change your mind."

As Dexter rose to turn off the lights, Radford couldn't shake the urge to double-check if the doors were locked. It was strange to feel this way, especially before the movie even started. And it made him feel pathetic - he'd been able to handle the worst of the worst without cringing. Sometimes, Radford wondered if that made him a shitty person, or just desensitized from his years of watching - in any case, he certainly wasn't now. 

Especially not when the film opened on a movie theater. 

He tried to cover up his sharp gasp and growing anxieties with a feeble attempt at a joke. "Isn't this a little too Scream II? "

" Please . This opening is nothing like Scream II. "

Streber whapped their arm, thick eyebrows furrowed. "He's just joking, Dex, he's nervous."

"Whatever! Just watch the movie!"

Radford decided he may as well stop avoiding it, despite his subconscious telling him that it'd make him more paranoid. The slice of the blade across the victim's neck before they could make a sound sent Radford into fight-or-flight, though he only froze. The scene was silent save for the pulsing sound of a heartbeat, pumping blood that could only spill uselessly all over the carpet. To tell the truth, Radford wasn't sure whether it was part of the movie or not. 

And a few minutes later, Katie Croft's character, Mel, who had escaped death in the last movie, found herself facing it once again at her new job when she found the body, overloading Radford with deja vu.

Streber seemed to notice because he clicked the space on the keyboard before glaring at Dexter. "Hey, ever heard of a trigger warning?"

Dexter lifted their hands defensively. "Hey, I'm just showing you what happened in the movie!"

"You do realize this makes Rad Mel , right?" Streber whisper-yelled as if Radford wasn't sitting right there.

"Yeah, that makes him the final girl." Dexter snorted. "Why's he upset? That should make him feel better -"

"Who else dies?" Radford interrupted, staring at the paused frame of Mel tugging at her curls, overcome with the urge to do the same. Dexter pinched the bridge of their nose and shook their head, like that was a stupid question. "Just tell me."

"No," Dexter insisted. "You're going to want to watch this all the way through."

"He clearly doesn't," Streber cut in, before turning to Radford, voice softening. "Do you want me to look up who dies?"

On the one hand, he did - he wanted to know who died just in case he could find any parallels with who might die in real life. On the other hand, it might be better to contextualize it by watching the movie, and Wikipedia only gave so much of a summary. Radford hung his head, winding a curl around his finger and tugging to regulate himself. "Let's just watch the movie."

"Ha! See?" Dexter pressed play once again, shooting a smug smile in Streber's direction.

But Radford could only feel discomfort as the camera slowly panned up to point at the blood-spattered screen, the projection flickering on, the movie title fading in: Box Cutter II. Starring, him.

Horror movies had been a big part of his life from a young age; he remembered sneaking down the hallway when he was meant to be asleep and seeing grisly ghouls and gruesome gory displays on the family television.

He recalled the screen's glow on his parents' faces, how his dad would scan the subtitles to ensure he understood everything. The sweet, silent communication between his parents whenever his dad would jump, his mom signing whether he was okay. And he remembered his thirteenth birthday when he was finally welcomed onto the couch.

But even when he was so small he couldn't understand what he was seeing, he never felt as petrified as he did now. It wasn't like he hadn't known these things were real - there were plenty of horror movies based on true stories, and he'd watched the cop shows and crime dramas. He wished he could go back to normal, that he could sit detached from horror again, that he could go back to that hallway, that couch - but he no longer could.

As the credits rolled, he felt queasy, sick swirling in his stomach. Mel had made it through the movie like Dexter said - though not unscathed. Radford took a deep breath, trying to bring himself back to reality, inhaling the smell of untouched, now cold fish sticks. He watched Streber doze in his chair, having fallen asleep at one point during the movie, and was tempted to join him - but before he could calm down enough to do so, Dexter started drawing up a thought map on a scrap piece of napkin.

"So if you look at the main victims, there's a clear pattern - the same one that exists in most horror movies." After sliding the napkin Radford's way, Dexter tapped their surprisingly neat-but-tiny print with a feverish smile, and Radford picked it up so he could read it better.

"The fool, the cheerleader, the jock, the nerd, and the final girl." Radford looked up from his shaky hands, unimpressed. "Yeah, everyone knows that."

"So, if you're the final girl per Mel's role in the movie, then that kid at the theater was the fool, and…"

"Roy's mom was the cheerleader?" Radford squinted at Dexter's notes. "But all the characters in Box Cutter II were coworkers or school friends. So it could just be anyone who fits the role?"

Dexter shook their head with a confident smile. "No, there was something else." They poked at the doodles they'd made of the victims. "Do you remember what the victims were always wearing at some point?"

Radford took a moment to think back, his eyes lighting up once he realized. "Oh, they were all wearing red, weren't they?" Joe sported a red hoodie, while Carmen had driven her red car and was wearing a red dress. The same was true for their counterparts in Box Cutter II , although the cheerleader in the movie had worn a cheer uniform instead of a plain, revealing dress.

"Well, who would be the jock, then?" Streber yawned, awoken by Dexter's chatter, not looking so happy himself. 

"Hmmm, good question," Radford mused. Not all the stereotypes were literal - even the so-called jock in Box Cutter II didn't actually play sports. What he was , however, was a pretentious asshole, which solidified him within the stereotype - but Radford wasn't sure who fit that role in Los Ocultos. When he tuned back into the conversation, it seemed Dexter was right in the middle of telling Streber - who was forcing a smile (and his eyes open) - precisely that. 

"So," Radford cut in, glancing at a shoddily drawn picture of John and Hope holding hands, stuck to the fridge with a large letter magnet along with a notice for her first chemo appointment. "If we do find out who's next, are we going to tell the cops?"

"Are you kidding?" Dexter sneered into their hand, punctuating it with yet another snort. "We'd be thrown in an asylum if we told them this was the Box Cutter." 

"Not if we explain it's just a copycat -"

"Besides," Dexter interrupted him, carrying on with their rant which they seemed to find incredibly amusing, "this is entertaining. Why would I want to help?"

" Dexter. " Streber scolded, whipping around to glare at them. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Ugh, whatever!" they said with a troubled expression, waving Streber away before refocusing on the list in front of them. "I don't really talk to many people aside from business matters, so I'm not sure who it could be. I'm open to suggestions, but if you're getting the cops involved, count me out." They narrowed their eyes at Radford. "Especially you , Popcorn Head. Don't go accusing me of anything else."

Radford couldn't resist cracking another nervous joke, hoping humor would calm them back down. "You are pirating a movie right now," Radford gestured at the still-open laptop, the media player already hidden behind several pop-ups. 

"Ugh, give me that." Streber yanked the laptop over, presumably to debug it.

Dexter continued to peer at Radford as a bead of sweat slid down his forehead, dripping off his chin onto his T-shirt. Then, Dexter started up their raucous laughter again, their too-wide grin stretching their face again as they checked their watch. "Oh, lighten up. I'm just messing around."

Radford laughed anxiously along with them before reviewing the list again. "So, we've got the fool and the cheerleader down so far," Radford muttered. "And the other victims in the movie wore red too, right?"

"Yep," Dexter nodded.  

"So what are the chances that the Box Cutter will go away if we just tell everyone to not wear red?" It was mainly meant as a goofy question, but Radford was half-hoping it could be that easy. 

Dexter pushed their chair back from the table, starting to get up. "Not likely. Besides, not everyone's going to listen - look at me, not listening to the whole 'curfew' rule right now." Radford arched an eyebrow, and Dexter arched one right back, pausing halfway out of the chair. "What, you thought I was staying? It's pretty late, and your uncle has it out for me."

No, Radford didn't think they were staying - he was glad they weren't - but it was still unsafe for someone to walk around town in the dark like that. "Is Streber driving you home?"

Both Dexter and Streber shook their heads in unison like it was a stupid question, and Radford shrunk back in his seat. "I can handle myself." Dexter stood up from the kitchen table, patting the napkin list again. "Not a jock, am I? See ya."

With that, they were out the door. Radford clicked the lock shut after them, then looked over his shoulder at Streber, whose chin was in his hand as he worked at the computer, eyes half-closed. 

"Um," he piped up after a moment. "They were right, though - it is pretty late." It was so late that it sounded like Ross and Robbie were asleep in the living room - and they usually stayed up a long time.

"Mm…you sure you don't want me to finish with this antivirus?" Streber asked, though he was clearly close to falling asleep again. 

Radford peeked over his friend's shoulder, finding the program still loading up. "It's installing , Streb. It's no big deal, we can just work on it tomorrow." Radford reached out to help drag Streber out of the chair, squeezing his soft hands before beckoning him to follow him through the living room and up the stairs. Before they went up, though, Radford leaned over the back of the couch and took off Robbie's hat, kissing the top of his head and fixing the blanket so he was tucked in more. 

Once they made it to Radford's room, Streber collapsed on his futon, completely wiped out. "Not even gonna change first?" Radford teased, hovering over him with a spare blanket in his arms.

"I sleep in my clothes," Streber mumbled, his face smushed against the cushions. 

Radford chuckled and tossed the blanket over him, making sure it covered his whole body since he was particular about that. "Yeah, I know." He sighed and took off his pants, tossing them in the general direction of the laundry hamper before settling down in his bed. 

He was about to turn off the lamp beside his bed when Streber rolled over and looked at him, blinking sleepily. "Could you leave that on?"

Radford nodded and offered him a bittersweet smile before retracting his hand. He gazed at the ceiling for a few minutes, since it was the only place devoid of horror posters, before rolling on his side to look at Streber. "Hey, Streb?"

"Hm?" Streber blinked open one eye.

"Are you worried at all?"

Streber chuckled and closed his eye again, shifting to get more comfortable. "I'm always worried. Just depends what I do with it."

There was a beat of silence where Radford tried to rationalize that answer, but it was hard - he knew Streber could be an anxious person. Still, it was rare that he truly showed it, save for when he'd bite his lips so hard they were painted crimson, or he'd scratch his arms so much he nearly tore away the skin. 

"You and me both."

"Well," Streber murmured, though it was halfway a yawn. "We'll figure it out, Rad. That's what we have to do with all this worry - funnel it into something useful, or we'll drown in it." He pushed his bangs out of his face and snuggled down in the blankets before speaking up again. "Hey, you know, you never did give Dexter that poster."

Radford sat up, spotting the white back of the poster stark against the dark wood of his desk. "Oh, I guess I didn't."

"Thanks for giving them a chance."

"Yeah, sure." I was basically forced, but whatever.

"And...sorry they keep calling you Popcorn Head. I already told them other things they can call you, but I think they're stuck on that."

Radford laid back down, focusing on the ceiling once more as he tried to formulate a response. "It's okay," he said after a solid moment. He took off his glasses and closed his eyes, though the lamplight still flickered through his lids. "'Night, Strep Throat."

Streber laughed, and Radford felt something small - likely Streber’s balled-up socks - hit his shin. "'Night, Radish."

Chapter Text

The orange glow from the setting sun streamed through the half-closed blinds, drawing long shadows across the checkerboard floor. It was an eerie sight, juxtaposed by the cheerful country music playing just loud enough for Radford, Streber, and Dexter to not get weird looks, but quiet enough for them to hear one another. 

“So are we a ‘club’ now?” Dexter glanced around the restaurant before diving into the second order of steak fries for the table. “If so, this is really dorky.”

“We aren’t a club,” Radford replied, tapping his fingers on the sticky table. He knew it was clean; after all, Bob had been wiping it down when they walked in. However, it still felt odd on his fingertips. What felt even more odd was the weight of the gun in his pocket. It had been a last-second decision, but since he knew he’d be out late, he snuck into John’s room and took one of the guns off the high shelf of his closet. “We’re just…three like-minded individuals coming together to figure out this mystery.”

“Oh, and that’s not dorky.” Dexter jerked a thumb at Streber, who had his nose in his notebook. “Even he brought his reading glasses, along with his ‘case file’, and if that’s not enough, you’re already the poster child . Ergo: this is dorky.”

“Dexter, you’re dorky too. Shut the fuck up.” Streber slammed the notebook down, pushing his reading glasses on top of his head. “ Anyways, I asked you guys to come here to help me figure this out, not to whine about how stupid this is.”

“Hey, don’t bring me into this,” Radford raised his hands in defense. He’d just been eating fries and watching the other patrons - and Bob - bustle around the restaurant. Boys N Grills was typically quiet until later at night, but everyone was rushing to get home before 5 PM due to the early curfew. He glanced at the wall clock: 4:46. “So, why’d you call us here ?”

Streber looked toward Bob, then back at the tabletop when the restaurateur met his gaze. “Well, based on the criteria we discussed for the ‘jock’, I think I’ve narrowed down a few likely suspects.” He flipped the page for Radford to read over, while Dexter craned their neck to look as well, their mouth stuffed with fries. 

Radford scanned the list, his brow furrowing as he read, until he reached a name that surprised him. “Wait, you think-” Streber’s eyes widened and he gestured for him to keep it down - huh, Radford hadn’t thought he was talking that loud, but continued in a whisper anyway. “You think the Box Cutter’s after Bob next?”

“It’s just a theory,” Streber grumbled, ducking his head. “Besides, there’s plenty of other names on there. I just thought - you know, he wears a red cap, red apron…his whole restaurant is red.”

“But he’s not really a jerk,” Dexter piped up. They glanced at Bob and waggled their fingers, and Bob gave them a cheerful wave in return. “My mom and I used to come here after church most Sundays, and I've even done some work around here. He might be a little strange, but he’s no jerk.”

For some reason, Radford wasn’t sure if he trusted Dexter’s judgment - they were a little off color themself, and tended to come off as rude even when they tried to seem well-meaning. Though, regarding Bob’s public persona, aside from his incessant staring at Streber, Radford had to agree. “I hate to say it, but they sorta have a point, Streb,” he said begrudgingly, and Streber groaned. 

“Like I said, it’s just a hypothetical!” he exclaimed as he threw up his hands. “He’s so far down the list, too, as in ‘less likely’.”

Dexter replied with a nonchalant shrug, “You should’ve said the order meant something."

As the pair bickered, Radford reread the list with that new information in mind. At the very top was Leon's name, underlined three times. He squinted to ensure he read it right, and sure enough, he had. But…Leon wasn’t an asshole. Sure, he was buff, had a jock-like physique that Radford could admit he’d drooled over once or twice, but he had always been pretty nice to everyone around him.

Radford's thoughts were interrupted by the soft ting-a-ling of a customer entering the restaurant. He glanced over his shoulder to see none other than Leon standing by the door, speak of the devil. He shut the notebook and shoved it back to Streber once Leon noticed them and started strolling over. 

“Yo, Rad! Streb! Person I don’t know!” Leon sidled up next to them and leaned against the booth, arms folded as he smiled easily at them. “Haven’t seen you around in a while, how are you?” All three of them looked up at him with weary looks and Leon’s smile grew nervous. “Uh…that good?”

Dexter opened their mouth to speak, but Streber interrupted before they could say anything. “Sorry, Lee, we were just talking about something a little heavy.”

Leon nodded in understanding and rubbed the back of his neck, his red shirt tightening around his muscles. Radford tried to quell the raging bisexual in him as he looked back at the menus, as if he was really going to order anything other than another basket of fries. “I see,” Leon said, voice growing somber. “You guys were talking about the murders, right?”

“Yep,” Radford muttered. It wasn’t like there was anything else noteworthy going on - what else would they be talking about? 

“Ah, gotcha.” Leon pursed his lips, then patted the top of the back cushion. “Well, I’ll leave you be. Just came in to grab a to-go order - Ethan’s waiting outside, though, Streb. You wanna go say hi to them? They’re sorta worried about you.” 

“Oh - yeah, I guess I should.” Streber rubbed his arm and stood up, although Radford could see the hesitation in his demeanor. He hadn’t realized that Streber hadn’t texted Ethan that he was okay - they must have been having issues.

“Oh, and uh- Rad.” Leon's offered a nervous smile as he cast a deliberate glance at Radford's right pocket, lowering his voice. “You uh, might want to go to the bathroom or something? Just an idea.”

Radford felt a blush spread across his face as Leon and Streber walked away. He quickly pulled his shirt over his lap with a groan. While he was grateful Leon had pointed out how noticeable the outline of his gun was, the fact he'd thought it was something else was embarrassing.

To make matters worse, of course Dexter felt the need to pipe up. “What was all that about?” Radford just shook his head, because they were the last person who needed to know. “Oh, come on, it’s something. You obviously just covered it up.”

Feeling eyes on him and knowing Dexter’s lack of volume control wasn’t helping to keep the exchange discreet, Radford began leaning across the table before the front door flew open again, the jangling bell a little less pleasant this time. 

“They were standing right there. ” Leon’s voice boomed through the restaurant, and everyone turned to look at him and Streber as they hurried inside, eyes wide with panic. “I swear, they were right by the door, smoking and waiting. They just wanted to make sure we didn’t get towed.” 

“Well that’s why you don’t park in an illegal spot, Lee! People need to travel in pairs ! You shouldn’t leave someone waiting outside!” Streber stomped up to the table, grabbed his maroon flannel from where he’d been sitting, and tugged it on. “Guys, leave the fries, let’s go.” 

As they headed towards the exit, Bob called after them, “Hey - ‘scuse me, y’all ain’t paid your bill yet!"

“I’ll cover it with an exchange of services,” Dexter replied, shooting Bob finger guns before the door shut behind them. 

“So where did you look?” Radford asked as he followed Streber and Leon through the alleyways, right hand in his pocket, holding onto the gun in case anything were to jump out. 

“We looked up and down the street, just not down the alleys.” Streber explained. Clearly, he was having trouble speed-walking, tripping over his feet and limping along, so Radford made the executive decision to push in front of him. Although he didn’t want to be the first to face whatever would be waiting for them around the next bend, he was the one with the gun.

For once, the alleyways were quiet, as though even the alley cats, who existed outside the law, knew about the curfew. The fog hung heavy in the air, a grey ghost cloaking them in mist that made every corner they turned look the same as the last. It grew frustrating, pretending there was something around every corner when Radford was almost certain they were walking in circles.

Finally, after a few moments of searching and somehow making it back outside Boys N Grills, Dexter sighed. “So exactly what are we hoping to accomplish?”

“Finding my friend,” Streber hissed in return, his thick brows furrowed. 

“Okay, okay, sheesh. I was just asking.” Dexter grumbled, crushing a bug and dragging its guts across the pavement. Ew . “I don’t see the point though, if they’re already dead.”

At Dexter's insensitive words, Radford felt Leon tense beside him. He pressed his fingers to his temples and turned around to address the group. “Okay, that’s it. Let’s split up.”

Dexter snorted, the sound echoing across the skeletal, dark buildings around them. “Oh, that’s your dumbest idea yet - you know what happens when you split up in a hor-”

“Yeah, I do! Which is why we’re splitting up into pairs!” Radford took a deep breath, trying to maintain a steady voice as though he was more confident than he truly was in this decision. “ You come with me, Streber with Leon. Since you want to be so fucking insensitive towards them.” 

Dexter seemed caught off-guard by the turn of events, as did Leon and Streber. But before Dexter could argue, the others nodded and hurried off in a different direction, leaving Radford with a angry flush as he scowled at them.

“Let’s go,” he ordered, walking in the opposite direction from Streber and Leon. He could hear Dexter dragging their feet behind him, but if they wanted to lag and get killed, it was on them. With shaky hands, he pulled out his gun.

“I knew you had a gun,” Dexter mused, "but, you know, the safety’s on.”

“Yeah, I know," Radford spat, rounding the next corner and squinting through the ever-thickening fog. It was getting almost impossible to see. "It’s so I didn’t shoot my dick off.”

Dexter whistled, continuing their easy, purposeless stroll; Radford could hear their slow footsteps bouncing off the brick walls around them. “You even know how to shoot a gun?”

Radford whirled around, this close to leaving them lost in the maze-like alleyways. “What the fuck is your problem?”

“Me?” Dexter's hands shot up in disbelief, like it was news to them they were acting strange. Like they had no idea they weren't acting like a human should in a situation like this one.

It made Radford sick, and he wanted Dexter to know it; he was one weird, condescending Dexter comment away from boiling over. “I know you think this whole ‘slasher’ thing is ‘entertaining’ to you, but these are real people. These are real people dying . I don’t know what part of that you don’t understand.”

Dexter faltered, taking a step back as they peered at him with genuine confusion. “I do understand, I just can’t feel bad, I guess.”

That was the most bullshit statement Radford had ever heard. Despite the chill of the fog condensing against his face, he felt like his skin was on fire. “Well then try!”

“Who said I wasn’t trying?!" Dexter snapped, their confusion turning defensive as they gestured wildly at themself and their surroundings. "I mean- God, I’m helping, aren’t I?”

“No, you’re not!” Radford yelled back, his hands tugging at his hair, a few curly strands snapping. “All you’re doing is being a dick. You’re awful to me, you’re awful to Streber - I mean, his and Leon’s friend might be dead! And you’re just insulting me and lagging behind like this is some field trip you get to skip out on." He could hear his voice echoing off the walls but couldn't even care about that for some reason. His vision was fixed on Dexter, everywhere else rendered blurry. "But no, you’re part of this, we’re all part of this because I think we owe it to figure out who’s doing this and stop them !”

“What do you mean, ‘owe’?”

“Dexter, are you honestly going to stand there and say there’s no one you would save if you could?!” At that, Dexter swallowed, their Adam's apple bobbing as their hands twitched at their sides, then rose up to hug their arms, prickly with goosebumps. Radford continued, voice wavering as he continued to shout. “‘Cause I have a little brother who I love very much and if he died, if this thing killed him , I would never forgive myself. I mean, fuck how scared I am. I’d do anything to keep him, or any of my loved ones, safe.”

Dexter’s nails dug into their arms so hard Radford would be surprised if they didn’t bleed, and they lowered their head. Then, they pushed in front of him, continuing to walk. And Radford followed, deciding the conversation must have been over. However, they spoke up again after a few minutes of walking deeper into the fog, their head bowed against it as they watched each step they took, careful not to step on any cracks in the pavement. “I know what you’re saying, and it makes sense, but I just can’t feel that way.”

Radford, who'd simmered down just a little, arched an eyebrow, watching their deliberate steps. That must have been why they were walking so slow before. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…I just, I can’t," Dexter said once again. "I can’t feel bad as much as I try. And I can say I’m sorry as much as I want, but it won’t be true, because I’m not sorry.” They took a shuddering breath. “Sometimes I think, even if my mom died, I wouldn’t be able to care about that. And it’s terrifying. So I try to convince myself I’m just not scared of death but I really don’t want to die.”

Oh ...

“And I’m so scared of it that sometimes, I think it’d be better for me to go ahead and kill myself so I’d at least have control over it and it wouldn’t take me by surprise.” Dexter finally glanced back at him with a wary smile, pausing in their steps with both feet separated over a crack. “I guess that’s all to say, I know I’m fucked up, Radford. You don’t have to tell me that. But I really am trying.”

Something curled in Radford, a sense of empathy that he'd lacked towards the exterminator before, and he pushed his hair out of his face before awkwardly staring at the crack in the pavement. “I guess that’s all we can do sometimes.”

Before Radford could say anything else - an apology was definitely in order, after all - they were interrupted by shouting in the opposite direction, and it didn’t sound like the good kind, or the kind that signified they'd found Ethan alive. Radford exchanged a glance with Dexter, who was using their shirt collar to dab at their eyes, before starting in that direction - it sounded like it was near the school. 

As they emerged from the alley, they spotted Leon and Streber standing petrified on the sidewalk. Twin piles of sick stained the concrete, the pair's faces both drained of color; from the pool of blood leaking from behind the bushes, it wasn't hard to guess that they had found their friend in a similar state to Joe and Carmen. So Radford knew there was nothing else he could do besides step around and see it himself, but he wasn't sure what part of him made that decision.

“...Ethan?” he asked softly, noting the red shirt, the tight black pants, the expensive, high-heeled boots and dual belts. They were overdressed as usual for a food run - dare he say, pretentiously dressed.

And then he saw it - or, rather, didn’t see it, something very different from the other crime scenes. He felt a sharp tap on his shoulder and turned toward Dexter, whose eyes were fixed on the sky. He followed their gaze and gasped, frozen in place and unable to look away, as he noticed the head perched atop the flagpole, blood staining the flag that hung limp in the still, otherwise grey night.  

But he didn’t get time to dwell on it when, seconds later, a figure darted from behind the bushes - a very familiar figure that, until now, Radford had only seen in the movies. His heart pounded as he stumbled backwards at the sight of that eerie, drawn-on smile and the dangerous flash of the box cutter in their hand. His heel caught on the uneven sidewalk, knocking his glasses loose. While he tried to right himself, he heard them crunch underfoot. Shit. Shit, shit, shit. 

“We need to get out of here,” he heard Streber whisper from… somewhere . Before he knew what was happening, there was a rough tug at his collar and he was pulled away by an unseen hand. He was unsure where they were headed, and could only catch glimpses of the occasional street light. Echoes of cries for help and desperate knocks filled his ears - were they being chased? Was the Box Cutter following them? He looked over his shoulder for their pursuer, as if he could see them anyways, and careened into a wall, collapsing uselessly. The impact left his ears ringing, his head spinning as he tried to get off the ground. He heard the clatter of his gun slipping from his hand and reached for it when he noticed someone hovering over him. His hand closed around the weapon and he raised it in their direction, hoping to whatever god was out there that it was the Box Cutter.

Then, the click of the safety. The crack of the gun. The squelch as it hit home. The spatter of blood on his skin. 

It echoed in his ears and he tried to push himself upright, but he couldn’t - his head hung heavy, and it felt sticky and warm against the rough asphalt. He heard muffled shouting but he wasn’t sure why or what they were saying - and he didn’t have any time before he passed out, the dark, misty grey fading to black.

Chapter Text

Radford awoke to the jingle of a doorbell, and the next thing he knew, he was lying on a familiarly sticky table with something soft beneath his head. A rustic light, now off, hung about a foot above his face. That was when it hit him - he could see again, his vision only a little blurry. He blinked a few times, then tried to sit up again. 

“Tch tch tch. Wouldn’t recommend that. Stay down,” a soft, heavily accented voice chided him. At that, Radford tried again, only for a large hand to push him back down. “No, don’t go bein’ ornery. I just said I ain’t lettin’ you up yet, boy.”

So, Radford stared at the overhead light instead, listening to the heavy footsteps disappear before he sat up enough to see where he was. Sure enough, he was back inside Boys N Grills. Streber paced in front of the door, while Bob rejoined him and set a soothing hand on his shoulder. Or, at least, a hand that was meant to be soothing - Streber shrunk away from it, his shoulders tensing at the touch.

Radford glanced at the ‘pillow’ beneath his head and discovered it to be Streber’s flannel. His head, still heavy and dizzy, started to fall back to it as if it was a magnet. He wasn’t sure if it’d been bleeding or not, it still felt gooey. He shifted on the table, dangling his legs over the side before he hopped off and stumbled over to the booth nearest to and facing the door. Bob heaved a sigh through his nose when he noticed, while Streber smiled, glad to see Radford awake. 

“Hey, Rad,” Streber said, moving to sit in the booth as well. When Radford slumped against him, he didn't move away and even rested his head on his. “I guess those old glasses you gave me came in handy, yeah?”

“Maybe a lil’,” Radford mumbled, his words slurring. So that was why he could see. “I feel funny.”

“It might not be legal, but I did give you some of my pain meds while you were blacked out. Be warned, though, they might make you feel a little nauseous.” Streber patted Radford's shoulder, keeping his touch gentle. “I just wish I knew where Dex and Leon were.”

“What happened to ‘em?” Radford hadn’t even remembered the others until Streber brought them up. 

Streber sighed. “You remember using the gun, right?”

Barely . “Yeah?”

Streber seemed to ruminate on his answer for a moment before locking eyes with Radford, a timid smile flickering across his lips. “Well, that was very brave, and it probably would’ve stopped the Box Cutter if you’d shot him. But you actually sort of shot Dexter instead?” 

Radford felt his heart stop. He no longer felt so funny anymore. It wasn't like he cared about Dexter, but he hadn't meant to shoot them! After their argument no less! “What?!”

“Yeah. Uh, so, Leon carried you here and left you with Bob and me, then went back for Dexter, but…” Streber sniffled, and Radford felt tears that weren't his own trickling into his eyes and down his face - though he knew Streber would never admit they were his. “Um, I don’t think they would’ve bled out, since it was just a shot in the leg, but I dunno, with the Box Cutter out there..." Streber trailed off into confused, strangled laughter and Radford looked down to see the nervous scratches he'd left on his arms, worse than the night of the first murder. "Sorry, between you and Dex and Ethan, I’m a mess, Rad.”

Radford stayed slumped against Streber for a few more minutes, the two of them comforting one another, before suddenly, a figure rushed at the door. It was Leon, with Dexter in his arms; he banged on the door, frantically glancing behind him before peering inside. Behind him, Radford could see the Box Cutter looming, though they were taking their sweet time as though they were trying to seem even more menacing than they already were.

“Heavens to Betsy, what’s all the-” Bob was cut off when Leon burst through the door after he unlocked it, but not before the Box Cutter's blade stabbed deep, deep into Leon’s bicep. Leon hissed but held fast to Dexter, his knuckles white as he carried and dropped them in Radford and Streber's booth. He lifted his hand to his arm, putting pressure on the wound even though the blood gushed around his fingers regardless.

The door clicked shut, the bell jangling noisily as Bob yelled through the glass, “Git yer meat tomorrow, ya hoodlum!”

The Box Cutter hovered outside for a moment, the empty eyes of their mask glowering through the glass. At last, they turned around and disappeared into the night, though Radford was half expecting them to return with something to break down the door. He tried to remind himself that most of the time, slashers sought out easy targets, Box Cutter no less.

Bob sighed and turned to look at the group, taking off his cap and brushing his fingers through his hair, greasy from hours in the kitchen. “Y’all right?”

Leon glanced up at Bob, a wad of napkins in hand. “You got a first aid kit?”

“‘Course I do.” Bob chuckled and went in the back, returning a few minutes later with a large first aid kit. Streber rose from next to Radford, leaving him to sink into the back cushion of the booth. He took the gauze from Bob without so much as acknowledging him, then went over to Dexter, rolling up the leg of their bloody pants and wrapping the bullet wound with gauze. He did the same to Leon's arm next, keeping it tight - though not too tight - since it was still bleeding out.

Once done, Streber returned the gauze to the first aid kit, and Bob took it to the kitchen. “I can take you guys to the hospital,” Streber offered before he peered out the door, likely to catch a glimpse of the killer. Radford followed his gaze, eyes already half-closed. He didn't want to go to the hospital, he just wanted to collapse in his own bed; he hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in so, so long. “You think the Box Cutter’s gone?”

“Should be,” Bob said as he walked out from behind the counter, his arms crossed over his broad chest. “If he ain’t, I’ll be right behind ya, doll.”

Streber grimaced at the pet name, but nodded along anyway. After all, Bob’s stature alone was surely intimidating enough to keep the Box Cutter far away from them. “By the way,” Streber murmured, “here.” Radford watched as he handed Bob a few crumpled bills, likely for the fries from earlier. “Sorry for running out before.”

“Nah, everything’s peachy.” Bob chuckled, though he still accepted the money and shoved it deep in his apron pocket. “Sorry ‘bout yer friends, hope they’ll be okay.”

Streber swallowed hard but only nodded, and Radford noticed Leon’s head dipping lower. God, in all the stresses of the night, Radford had almost forgotten about Ethan. They must’ve put up a hell of a struggle for the Box Cutter to have cut off their-

Feeling nauseous, he chose to stop thinking about it. And while the nausea could have been from the meds Streber made him take, he didn’t want to take any chances dwelling on it. Thankfully, he was loopy enough to make that decision for his anxiety.

Streber helped Radford stand up while Leon limped behind them, likely exhausted from how much running back and forth he had to do. And even though Dexter tried to hop on one foot, Bob scooped them up and tossed them in the far back seat of Leon’s car, which they were taking since it was still parked in an illegal spot; the last thing he needed tonight was to get towed. Radford ended up in the front passenger’s seat, while Leon stayed in the back with Dexter. 

As Streber was about to pull away from the curb, Bob rapped at his window. He rolled it down. “Yeah?”

Bob flashed a winning smile and glanced around at the injured passengers in the car. “Where’d y’all say that body was?”

“In the park near the school,” Streber managed to say, his voice trembling. It was clear to Radford that he was trying not to gag at the memory. “Can’t miss it.”

“All righty. I’ll report it,” Bob said, an odd glint in his eye as he stepped a little further back from the car. “Other 'n that, nothin’, just have a good night and get those kids to the hospital.”

Radford murmured "he will" at the same time Streber responded, “I will."

He almost drove off before Bob leaned in again, looking Streber right in the eye this time. “Oh, and, uh," Bob's voice dipped into a lower register, almost too quiet for Radford to overhear. "Tell yer mama hi for me, wouldja?”

Streber peeled off into the night without another word. The car made a loud screech as he did, and Radford had to brace himself in his seat so he didn't lurch forward. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Radford noticed the tears Streber was finally letting stream down his face - but Radford knew he couldn’t point it out lest he force himself to stop. 

…..

Radford’s injuries were minor, the doctor eventually concluded. Other than his concussion, there was a scrape on the back of his head and a few on his elbows, but nothing was severe enough for him to stay in the hospital overnight - not that he could even afford that. Meanwhile, Dexter required surgery to remove the bullet, which was still lodged in their calf, and Leon needed stitches for his stab wound. 

Radford hummed and tucked his head into Streber’s shoulder, closing his eyes as he did; his head was still spinning, and even though he could see, he didn’t want to. The two of them were waiting on Rick, who had begrudgingly agreed to drive them home - but only to Radford’s since it was close by, so it seemed another sleepover was imminent. Not that Radford minded; he felt safer with someone else around, after all, especially when it came to watching his brother. 

They tried calling John instead, but the call went straight to voicemail, so he was likely at the station, but Radford was too tired to be as pissed as he wanted to be about it. 

“I’m sorry about tonight,” he mumbled half-heartedly after a few minutes, since he could feel Streber still trembling like a leaf next to him. Even after his crying spell earlier, he seemed much more delicate than usual even though he kept denying it.

“No, no, it’s okay,” Streber murmured, his grip gentle, yet firm, on Radford’s shoulder. It felt like he just needed someone to cling to; when he was finally allowed to see Dexter and Leon he’d been jumpy and afraid to injure them further. “I didn’t get hurt. I should count myself lucky.”

“But you can still be upset.” Radford glanced up at him, noting how his friend’s eyes were still full of tears. If he so much as blinked, all of them were certain to fall. “And I’m being serious, Streb. Tonight was hard for everyone. Your friend died.”

“I know.” Streber closed his eyes and, sure enough, more tears trickled down his cheek. 

Radford far from liked seeing his friend cry, but at the same time, he needed to let himself more than he did - especially given the night he’d had! “And I’m sorry you had to deal with Bob.”

Jaw clenched, Streber scrubbed away the tears with his hands. “Why’d he say that about my mom?” His voice was just barely a whisper, a tearful hiss that didn’t match his face. It was screwed up in anger and upset, his mouth twisted downward. 

Aware of Streber’s issues with his mother, as well as the father he’d never known, Radford tried to change the subject so Streber didn’t work himself up more. “He probably just knew her from the restaurant,” he said, not trying to sound dismissive. “Maybe she was a regular when she was younger.”

“But…” Streber trailed off, continuing to scratch his arms raw. “I don’t know, just…the way he always stares. It’s creepy. It’s like he recognizes someone in me, and I don’t look that much like my mom so it can’t be her.”

“So what does that mean to you?”

Streber just frowned at the stripes of red on his arms. “I don’t know.” He bobbed his head before leaning it on top of Radford’s again, curling his arms around his torso in a gentle embrace. “That I need some sleep.”

With a soft chuckle, Radford hugged him back and smiled against his neck, against the two moles he always thought looked like fang marks. “We both do.”

Radford’s phone dinged, cutting through the silence; Streber reached into his pocket to grab it, skimming the texts. “Looks like Rick’s here.”

“All right.” Radford let go of him and stood up, making sure to go slow so he didn’t fall over. An arm wrapped around his shoulder to keep him upright, and Streber hugged him close one more time with a soft exhale. Then, they made their way out the sliding doors, and into Rick’s car. 

They both fell asleep the second they hit the seats.

Chapter Text

It was November fourteenth, ten days from Robbie’s thirteenth birthday, and they hadn’t seen John in five.

That wasn’t to say he hadn’t called them - he had. That was why Hope was at her aunt’s house rather than home, because he didn’t want his little girl to be uncared for. Radford would have taken offense, but then again he could barely cook for him and Robbie, especially since his concussion wasn’t letting up. He also had a sneaking suspicion John was a personal police detail for the Box Cutter stars, but he had been afraid to admit over the phone. 

Why even come to Los Ocultos if you think you need a police detail? He thought to himself as he heated up some bacon on the stove. 

That was another thing - Patty had stopped by a few times, bringing over groceries after work, hence where the bacon had come from. He’d asked her multiple times if Ethan’s body had been hard to recover with their head way up on the flagpole, but she answered the same way every time: "We haven't found the body yet, so they can only be presumed missing for now."

Radford told her he’d seen the body, so he knew they were dead, but Patty just told him to get some rest because his concussion was giving him hallucinations. 

His stomach grumbled painfully as the bacon sizzled, and he was almost tempted to eat it right off the frying pan. To keep himself from doing so, he tugged the collar of his shirt to his mouth and gnawed on it, remembering Streber telling him once that chewing on something often helped satiate hunger pangs. And it did work - that is, until he noticed Robbie leaning in the doorway, an amused smile on his face. 

“What’re you doing?” Robbie asked as Radford spat out the fabric, which was completely soaked in saliva.

He brought up a hand to wipe his mouth. “Cooking dinner for you, you ingrate,” he teased. After checking to make sure the bacon was nice and crispy to his liking, he switched off the stove. “Mind setting the table?”

Robbie glanced at the pan of bacon. “For…just bacon.”

There was also a sheet of hash browns in the oven. Robbie had even watched him put them in there! “No, not just bacon.” Radford decided Robbie wasn't going to set out the plates and went to do it himself, trying to ignore his swirling head as he lifted his arms to grab them.

“Okay, whatever you say!” After Radford put the plates down, Robbie plopped down in his usual seat at the kitchen table, elbows on either side of his dish. Unruly curls flopped in his face, and Radford cringed; this was the first time he'd gotten a close enough look, and it seemed like Robbie hadn’t been taking care of his hair.

Radford sat down and reached across the table to ruffle his brother’s hair, his fingers catching in a web of knots. “Did you go to school like that?”

“Like what?” Robbie shook his head to flip his hair out of his face. “I dunno what you mean.”

A long sigh later, Radford scooped them both some bacon and plopped it on their plates. The hot grease pooled on the plates and he wondered if he should use it for a batch of popcorn later for a movie night. Something light, perhaps a Scooby-Doo movie? “Hey, you up for a movie night, bud?” he asked after taking a bite of a strip of bacon. 

“I was checking the TV earlier and I think the SpongeBob movie’s on at seven," Robbie mused.

SpongeBob was even better than Scooby-Doo; now that Radford thought about it, maybe the whole ‘masked ne’er-do-well’ trope key to the Scooby-Doo franchise wouldn’t be the best regarding current events. Checking the clock, he saw they had about an hour and a half till the movie, giving them plenty of time to finish dinner and make popcorn. And, hopefully enough time for Robbie to shower and comb out his hair properly, which was what he told his brother next. 

“My hair isn’t that bad!” Robbie insisted, but Radford just shook his head. 

“It’s messy and greasy, and you’re starting to break out from it getting on your face. That’s gonna hurt,” Radford explained, gesturing to the numerous pimples speckling Robbie’s forehead. "I know you're not used to having to worry about zits, but you're reaching the age where you have to."

Even though Robbie pouted, he seemed to understand he wasn’t winning this one. 

The oven chimed that the hashbrowns were done, and Radford stood to grab them, bracing himself on his chair so he didn’t keel over. Vertigo had been hitting him hard over the last few days and he felt like he was going to pass out whenever he stood up, making getting out of bed in the morning hell. But he had to do it for his brother, or he would forget to care for himself. He dragged the cookie sheet out of the oven and served them both the crispy, grated potatoes. 

Then, he noticed how Robbie picked at his food with his fork, only nibbling little bites at a time as he swayed back and forth in his chair. “Everything okay?” Radford asked, lowering his head so he could meet Robbie’s gaze. 

“Hm?” Robbie blinked out of his daze and shoved the whole slice of bacon in his mouth.

“I said is everything-”

“Yeah!” Robbie’s smile grew anxious as he talked with his mouth full. “Sorry, just thinking about school. I overheard the nurse talking about something when I went to get my meds at lunch.”

Well, at least Robbie was still taking his meds. Then again, that was probably because he could barely function at school without them. “What’d they say?”

“Apparently, the principal’s talking about closing the school down until the killer’s caught,” Robbie said, finally swallowing his food. “I dunno if I blame her, even the teachers have been calling out. They don’t like having to stick around after dark.”

Radford tilted his head. “Are you scared to go to school?”

“Kinda.” Robbie scooped up a forkful of hashbrowns as he ducked his head. “Besides, it’s not like Roy’s there, and Ross’ parents are letting him stay home. And the teachers aren’t teaching much.”

Nodding, Radford continued to eat as well. He would have to think about it, but if Robbie's teachers weren't even at school, what was the point of sending him there? What he was most scared of was John calling him irresponsible. In Radford's eyes, being able to watch him 24/7 was more responsible than anything else he could do. John was the one who had put Radford in charge without saying he needed to be in the first place.

After finishing dinner, he began cleaning up and gestured for Robbie to leave so he could take a shower. Before he could focus on cleaning, he made sure to lock all three main doors and the windows, then turned on the porch lights. He hated that he had to be this paranoid, but he remembered from the cop shows he watched that killers and burglars usually targeted homes with the lights out and doors and windows unlocked. Hopefully they’d be okay. 

For a moment, he wondered how Streber was faring in his apartment, but the complex had a 24-hour patrol and each building was locked with a code. Definitely made him a more challenging target. Still, he was alone; maybe he should’ve asked him over again? 

He poured some of the leftover bacon grease (and some bacon fat from the fridge) into the whirly-pop along with some kernels, then put the cover on top. After a few minutes, the crisp pops began, and he ascended the stairs to go change into clothes better suited for a movie night. The hair on his legs prickled in the chilly house and he hastily tugged on a pair of black lounge pants. He side-eyed his red sleep shirt and eventually decided to just keep wearing the shirt he already had on, not wanting to take any risks despite his hair and glasses already being red. 

He headed back downstairs, the hiss of the shower shutting off as he did, and turned off the popper, flipping it into the cover and giving it a good shake. Too often did he have to dig under the stir rod for stray pieces of popcorn, which made the whole process more annoying and messy than it needed to be. 

By the time Robbie came downstairs, Radford already had the popcorn salted and buttered to perfection, and commercials were blasting over the living room television, advertising the latest video games and toys. It was hard to miss how Robbie’s eyes lit up at the commercials as he combed through his wet curls, and it dulled Radford’s mood since he knew Robbie hadn’t gotten something cool, new, or all for himself in years. 

“Here,” he said eventually, noting how Robbie kept tearing at some of the knots by being too rough with the comb. He took it from him and started combing his brother’s hair for him, being much more gentle than he ever was towards himself. “You’re gonna pull out all your hair if you keep yanking at the tangles.”

“I’m not yanking,” Robbie protested, though he folded his legs and turned so Radford could comb out the back. There were still numerous soap bubbles on his neck and ears, and Radford grabbed a blanket and wiped them away before settling it over his brother’s shoulders. 

Once Robbie’s curls were thoroughly combed, the movie finally started and Radford filled up the two empty bowls on the coffee table with popcorn. The two of them sat transfixed on the film as they munched on their snacks - that is, until Radford’s phone started buzzing in his pocket, the accessibility feature announcing that it was an unknown number. He let it ring, but once it stopped, it immediately started again. So he got up from the couch, told Robbie he would be back in a few, and walked into the kitchen.

“Hello?”

“You should change your voicemail message to something less annoying,” sneered a familiar, transatlantic accent on the other end. 

Radford groaned. He knew what they were talking about, but the message was supposed to be funny , not annoying. It was one of those fake-out ones that made the caller think he’d actually picked up. “Yeah, whatever. Hi, Dexter, how’d you get my number?”

“Streber gave it to me a while ago, said that in case I couldn’t reach him I should try you.” Beeping sounds were audible in the background, so they must have still been in the hospital. “Don’t get me wrong, I can reach him just fine, so don’t panic like you like to - but I did want to ask you a favor.”

“Well, can you make it quick?” Radford asked, leaning with his back against the kitchen counter. “I’m kinda spending time with my brother right now.”

“Oh! The famous brother you’d kill yourself for. Yeah, sure.” Dexter snickered and Radford rolled his eyes, hoping they’d get on with it. “So, listen. I’ll be getting out of the hospital soon - not today, obviously - and my mom can’t drive and that buff guy already left, so I was wondering if you could pick me up? Streber already said he doesn’t feel comfortable leaving his apartment.”

What? Radford frowned and lowered his voice to a register he hoped his brother couldn't overhear. “What do you mean, ‘doesn’t feel comfortable’?”

“I don’t blame him, with everything that happened the other night. Which leads me to my next question.” Dexter’s voice seemed to soften, losing the strange edge it always had. “Someone needs to look after him, and I’m afraid I’m not the best candidate.”

It was easy for Radford to understand what they were implying, but he couldn’t just leave Robbie. Besides, he still had a concussion. “Um, don’t get me wrong, I’d love to, but I’m not really equipped to do that, either.” He dug his toes into the mat in front of the sink, wrinkling it. “I don’t even think I can drive like this.”

There was silence on the other end for a good few moments, save for the background noises of the hospital. Then, Dexter groaned. “Okay, sure, maybe not,” they said, “but I can’t really- I mean, could you at least try ?”

“I mean, I can try. ” Radford switched his phone to his other ear as he put the whirly-pop’s washable parts in the sink. Less to clean up later if he let them soak, he figured. “But he’s pretty diligent about taking his meds.”

“Ugh, whatever. Thanks.”

The call disconnected soon after, leaving Radford in a void of nothingness for a short minute as he processed its abrupt end. He peeked into the living room at Robbie, who was focused on the movie, though he guessed he was pretending he hadn’t eavesdropped. As Radford rubbed his eyes under his glasses, he pondered what to do - he couldn’t go out to check on Streber now, but maybe a text would suffice. Then, perhaps he and Robbie could go over and hang around for a bit tomorrow, help take care of things around Streber’s apartment and boost his morale. Radford was always good at doing that, and he knew Streber was fond of his brother, too, due to their similar interests. 

So, he readied his speech-to-text, the sharp edge of the countertop digging into his back as he braced himself against it.

Radford: are you feeling better today quest chin mark 

He didn’t notice the error until he sent it and rolled his eyes. Of course that slip-up would happen during what was meant to be a serious text. Regardless, he noticed a ‘typing’ bubble popped up, and Streber’s response came in moments later. 

Streb: lol quest chin mark

Streb: i’m feeling, which is a step up

Streb: talked to my mom about bob

Radford raised an eyebrow in curiosity; through all the stress he’d almost forgotten about Bob’s odd behavior.

Radford: what did she say

Streb: dex told me you were coming over tomorrow, i’ll tell you then

Dexter told him what? Now there was no getting out of it. Hopefully, Robbie wouldn’t mind going on a field trip. 

Radford: k

He tucked his phone back in his pocket and held his head for a moment, feeling the warmth of his hands on his face. He wasn’t sure why it was so cold in the house, or if it had always been that way, but now it seeped into the marrow of his bones. 

Finally, he rejoined Robbie on the couch, covering up with his flannel blanket after making sure Robbie was comfortable. It seemed he was already on his third bowl of popcorn, while Radford hadn’t touched his first one. The bowl was cold but he ate it anyway, trying to ignore how weird the call with Dexter kept getting the longer he thought about it. Tonight was meant to be a good night, one where he didn’t have to worry about the Box Cutter - but he lost that luxury the moment the killer went serial. Now, there was so much dread, so much anxiety, and even Dexter seemed to feel it as much as they tried not to show it.

He caught Robbie stealing worried glances at him as they watched the movie, and while Radford felt terrible for ruining movie night, he couldn’t shake the feeling that nothing would ever be as it was again.

Chapter Text

The apartment reflected what Radford imagined Streber’s mind to be when he told him. 

That wasn't to say it was as filthy as it had been on the eighth; rather, the clutter was hidden away. It was confined to his room, the walls covered floor-to-ceiling with pages torn from his notebook, news articles, building schematics, and photographs.

“Whoa, what’s all that?” Robbie asked, his eyes widening as soon as he and Radford entered the apartment. 

Streber shut the bedroom door, blocking Robbie's view of it, and reached up to pat his head. “It’s nothing you need to worry about, Rob. You want something to drink?”

Robbie asked for a glass of water before plopping onto Streber’s couch and turning on the TV. Streber rolled his eyes and went to get the kid some water, while Radford locked the door behind him. Streber had always had several locks, but it seemed he'd added more to the collection, Radford noticed with a frown.

While Robbie waited for his drink, Radford quietly entered Streber’s room and was confronted with the chaos of the conspiracy wall that Streber had kept hidden, bottled up - business as usual with him. He approached the wall and was almost immediately overwhelmed by the sheer amount of information. This was something only Streber could do in the face of a serial killer; although it made little sense to him, it was better than despairing over it.

He noticed a small doodle of himself and Streber amongst the torn pages and smiled warily, tracing his fingers over the pen lines. Turning his gaze downwards, he saw Streber’s notebook open on the floor and peered at it. From his perspective, it was hard to read, but he thought he saw his name scribbled a few times. Before he could examine it any closer, he heard Streber’s voice nearing the door and he hastily sat on Streber’s bed, not wanting him to know he was snooping.

Seconds later, Streber entered the room, closed the door behind him, and took a seat next to Radford. “I forgot your brother wasn’t so ‘little’ anymore - he’s almost taller than me."

“Someday he’ll be taller than both of us,” Radford joked, his neck slick with nervous sweat. As he tried to dab it away with his collar, his hand grazed the back of his head, irritating the still-tender bruise there. “It’s okay, though, I’m just glad I’m taller than John. Can’t really look down on me now.”

"Yeah, well. You know how it is." Streber’s easy smile grew strained at the dark joke, and Radford realized it was the wrong time to joke like that. Before he could apologize, Streber continued, “It’s been a hard few days, Rad. I didn’t realize being twenty would suck so much.”

To lighten the mood, Radford nudged him with his elbow. “Hey, I turn twenty next June - don’t go turning me away from the idea," he chuckled.

“Last I checked, you can’t stop yourself from getting older,” Streber replied, elbowing him right back as his shoulders bounced with laughter. “I’m mostly joking, anyway. It hasn’t been all bad, serial killings and flare-ups aside.”

“Yeah, that aside.” Radford knew they both tended to joke around when they felt stressed out, but it almost felt out of place this time around, like it was a distraction. Actually, he realized, it was - Streber still hadn't brought up why he wanted to talk to Radford that day. “So what did you need to talk to me about?”

Streber's smile vanished once more, and he fidgeted in his spot, his nails digging into his arms. "What did I need to talk to you about?" he echoed.

“Something about Bob?” Radford probed, and Streber swallowed and dug his nails in harder at the name. Radford took his hands away from his arms and squeezed them as he watched the divots disappear back into Streber’s skin. “You don’t have to tell me…”

“No, it’s fine,” Streber reassured as he squeezed his hands in return, steeling himself. “So...I asked my mom why he would’ve said hi to her, right? And she um…got really quiet and started staring at me like she’d seen a ghost. Then she lifted up her shirt a little bit, just to show her stomach - there were so many scars there." His voice grew faint, and Radford leaned in to hear better. "Scars of bite marks, like from a dog but not really, and before I could ask what happened she explained that Bob did that to her.”

Radford recoiled from his friend, his stomach churning, his nose wrinkling.“But why did Bob bite your mom?”

Closing his eyes, Streber pinched the bridge of his nose before continuing the harrowing story. “She, uh, said she let him. So he wouldn’t do it to anyone else." He paused, as if telling the story was just as awful as hearing it. "They...'dated' for a while but ended up splitting because she couldn’t take it anymore-"

"-Thank God," Radford interrupted, much to Streber's chagrin.

" But ," he continued, shooting Radford a glare, " she found out she was pregnant about a month later, and uh…”

The implications hit Radford like a truck. “Wait, he’s your dad ?!” he exclaimed a little too loudly, and Streber cringed, clamping his hand over Radford’s mouth. 

“She said he ‘stopped’ his whole ‘cannibal’ thing to help raise ‘his daughter’." The story seemed to leave a progressively worse taste in Streber's mouth. "But she eventually found out that he was still doing all that. So she left him again and hasn't been in contact since." He lowered his head. "It's why I couldn't go to Boys N' Grills as a kid.”

Radford was still in shock, and he couldn't imagine how much worse it was for Streber. At least Radford's parents had been good people before disappearing, but Streber didn't even have that luxury. His father was a cannibal , a cannibal who hadn't cared enough to stop for his child. Who probably would have eaten his child, since he was so willing to eat his lover. In short, Streber was the spawn of a serial killer, born of a man's bloodlust for a woman. “Why didn’t she call the cops?”

“It's not her fault. She was scared he’d eat the rest of her if she said anything.” Streber swallowed, squeezing Radford's hands tighter, as if to ground himself. “She, uh…said he wasn’t ‘abusive’ or anything like that, but he was still a killer and she was afraid to call or leave.”

“Oh god…” Radford trailed off. “You think that’s why they can’t find Eth-”

“ Stop it, Rad! ” Streber sobbed, his tears finally springing forth in a waterfall that he seemed unable to stop. “I don’t care about that right now! I could give less of a shit about Ethan, what matters is that that guy’s my fucking father !”

“But Streber,” Radford tried, placing a supportive hand on Streber’s shoulder, “it’s not like that says anything about who you are-”

“I know it doesn’t,” Streber said, rubbing his face, smudging his tears and eyeliner into muddy stains on the apples of his cheeks. “But the last thing I want to do is be like my mom. I mean, you know that. But whenever I think I’m not like her, something else pops up and proves me wrong. We both just...freeze, and do nothing, just...take it.” 

As much as Radford wanted to help, nothing he could say would keep Streber from spiraling - in fact, trying to comfort him verbally often made him feel worse. So Radford just sat to the side, rocking back and forth and taking deep breaths so Streber could mirror him. Eventually, a soft warmth nestled against and rocked with him.

Streber's voice broke the silence a few minutes later. “I don’t like feeling like I don't have a choice," he murmured.

Radford took a moment to choose his words. “I know how much it sucks, to feel helpless against the same old cycle.” He swallowed hard, trying not to think about how that also resonated in himself. “But I think your fear of being like your mom’s clouding your judgment. You’re…you’re one of the strongest people I know, dude.” A gentle, freckled elbow nudged Streber in the ribs. “‘Freezing’ when you’re scared doesn’t change that, it just means, you know, you’re preparing yourself for what to do next, and sometimes that’s the best you can do. Can’t be a hard-ass all the time, and it’s good that you’re not. That’s what makes you human.”

And Radford believed that with all of his heart about Streber - he wasn't saying it just to say it. If only he could feel that way about himself.

Streber sniffled, his teary-eyed expression transitioning into one of laughter. He shook his head and grinned. “When’d you get so poetic, Rad?”

“Somewhere between our vampire film and the first murder,” Radford replied, reaching for a tissue to Streber's tears. 

“ Ohhh , the really gay one that got me suspended for a week?” Streber snorted as he dabbed at his eyes. “I guess that was pretty poetic. If homoerotic vampires are poetic to you, that is.”

“Yeah…yeah.” As a telltale heat rose to Radford's cheeks, he cleared his throat and decided to change the subject before he could think too hard about Streber’s acting in that film. “But all jokes aside, I am being serious.”

“Wow.” Streber lowered his gaze to his lap, the tissue crumpled between his fingers. He tore at the thin paper idly. “Heh. Have I ever told you how much I care about you?”

Radford tapped his chin in mock thought. “Maybe once or twice, but I could hear it again.”

“You just did hear it again!” Streber snickered, shoving Radford playfully before pushing himself off the bed. “Okay, okay, enough sappy shit. We could all use something to eat, right?”

“ Not Boys N’ Grills, though.”

“Ugh, no, definitely not. Never again,” Streber cringed. “D’you think I should send in an anonymous tip that there’s human flesh in the burgers?”

“Pretty sure if they tested the current batch of burgers, it would come up as 100% Ethan Summers," Radford quipped, surprised his joke had gone over as well as it had.

“Gross.” Streber sighed, looking thoughtful before saying, “What about Crust Corner? Even though you hated working there, they still have pretty good pizza.”

That was true; the last time Radford had their pizza, the crust tasted better, too. And everyone knew the crust was the best part of any pizza. “Sure. Delivery okay?”

“Delivery’s about the only thing I trust right now.” Streber laughed, though it lacked any real humor. 

The pair left Streber’s room and shut the door behind them, finding Robbie splayed out across the couch, engrossed in a Gravity Falls episode he’d seen dozens of times already. “Hey, bud,” Radford called, along with a clap to draw his attention.

Robbie jumped, blinking up at him. “Dude!” he cried. “You scared me!”

“Promise it’s worth it,” Radford said in sing-song, ruffling Robbie's blonde curls. “Streb and I are ordering pizza. Any special requests?”

“Couldja get some garlic knots?” Robbie asked, and Radford gave him an affirmative thumbs up. 

“A six-piece,” Streber tacked on, exchanging a knowing look with Robbie. They shared an affinity for garlic knots, and always ordered them whenever they got pizza. 

Since Radford knew the whole menu from when he worked there, he stepped back into Streber’s room to make the call, pacing as he waited for them to pick up. While he listened to the phone ring, he crouched to look more closely at the page he’d skimmed earlier. It appeared to be a complicated diagram comparing the Box Cutter II movie with the real-life murders; it was similar to a timeline but not quite a timeline. Streber also made sure to list other victims, ones who may not have ‘died’ but still were caught in the crossfire, or ones that weren’t key to the story and were more opportunistic towards the Box Cutter. He scribbled a note nearby that there could well be more witnesses and more victims that hadn’t been found yet, specifically noting homeless people and prostitutes as high-risk victims. 

The scariest thing on the page by far was the “Rad = Mel Ferrera” surrounded by question marks at the top. Because yes, like Dexter had pointed out, Radford playing Mel's part in this was technically good, since it meant he’d be the ‘final girl’, but that was the only benefit because Mel's was an awful cross to bear. The final girl had to watch everyone she cared about suffer and die in part because of her, and had to live with that on her conscience. And Radford didn’t want to live with that. He wasn’t strong enough to. 

“Um… hello ?”

Radford scrambled to press his phone, which he hadn't noticed fall, back to his ear. “Uh, hey! Sorry about that. Butterfingers.” He chuckled nervously and was only met with silence. “I’m uh, ordering for delivery?”

There was not a hint of amusement in the worker's voice. “Nice. You kinda need to order something for us to deliver it, sir.”

Radford flipped the notebook page and cleared his throat to mask the noise in case Streber was listening (which he doubted). “All right, can we get an eighteen inch pizza, half pepperoni and half cheese, with olives on the side? And a six-piece of garlic knots?”

“Yup.” The person on the other end was quiet for a minute, as if waiting for him to say more. “That all?”

“Yeah.”

They confirmed the details and informed Radford the order would be there in roughly twenty minutes. After hanging up, Radford couldn't help but continue reading the next page of the notebook. It outlined Streber’s ‘signal jammer’ theory, and expressed more confusion over whether it would actually create an effect like the one it had on the security feeds at the theater. On the right side was a lengthy note that looked as though it’d been written late at night. His handwriting was labored and messy, with random words misspelled.  

At this rate, I’m staying out of the way. I don’t think further investigation will do anything other than prolong the inevitable. Once everyone necessary (fool, cheerleader, jock, nerd) has been wiped out, the ‘final girl’ will be able to end the movie by making the Box Cutter either perish, or disappear like in the original (if I remember correctly)(maybe he did both? die-sappeared?). 

The rest of the page had been scribbled out, a tiny, oddly cheerful doodle of an emoticon shrugging next to it, which didn’t make Radford any less worried about Streber’s mental state. He flipped back to the original page with the weird charts and stood up once again, head spinning a bit as he walked out to the living room to wait for the pizza delivery. 

Streber and Robbie were still settled on the couch, Robbie watching TV while Streber puzzled over something on his phone. 

“What’s goin’ on?” Radford asked as he settled between the pair. 

“I tried to call downstairs to tell them we were getting a pizza delivery soon, but the signal’s busy,” Streber explained, shutting off his phone and setting it on the armrest. “I guess I’ll call again in a few minutes.

Radford nodded, trying to keep the vertigo to a minimum. “Wonder who’s tying up the line.”

“Ugh, probably my shi- crappy nextdoor neighbor," Streber corrected himself as he made a vague gesture at the wall behind the TV. "She always calls down to complain about something .”

Radford rolled his eyes; he’d heard the horror stories of Streber’s nextdoor neighbor, about the numerous times she’d stuck her nose where it didn’t belong. One time she’d openly called Radford a not-so-nice word over the platonic (?) black lipstick on his cheek as he left Streber's apartment. 

In any case, he settled back on the couch, all three of them watching the copier clone episode of Gravity Falls , and he tried to quell the rising fear in his stomach from what he’d just read in Streber’s notebook - and from looking in the first place. He hoped Streber wouldn't find out.

As the music in the episode slowed down, he felt Streber begin to sway along next to him and, soon enough, joined in himself. It seemed to calm them both down; Radford almost forgot every unnerving thing they'd discussed earlier and the odd note he'd read in Streber's notebook; all of it felt lightyears away. One look to his right revealed that Robbie was dancing along, too, and he smiled, happy to see Robbie was doing well, too.

Towards the end of the episode, there was a sharp knock followed by a thump at the door - Streber raised an eyebrow, as he still hadn’t been able to get through to downstairs. He tried to stand, grimacing as he did, but Radford blocked him with a hand. 

“It’s chill!” he chirped. “I got this.”

Streber offered a grateful smile and sat back down, glancing back at the slightly fuzzy broadcast. As he walked to the door, Radford dug in his pocket for the money and peered through the peephole. Sure enough, there was the delivery person, holding the pizza box open - pepperoni and cheese, split down the middle, with a cup of olives on the side. A plastic bag was slung over their shoulder, presumably for the garlic knots. Radford unlatched the many latches on the door before opening it wide. 

His smile faded when, as if in slow motion, a dead body wearing a familiar, unbuttoned blue shirt and brown slacks fell in through the doorway. 

Radford looked up just in time to see the pizza and garlic knots thrown aside to reveal the cruel, frenzied grin on the Box Cutter’s mask, the delivery person's hat balanced on top of it. Radford stumbled backwards and screamed for Streber and Robbie to flee before making a desperate attempt to follow them. Before he could, however, he was whipped around by the Box Cutter, his fingers digging into his skin so hard it felt as though he was trying to pry the bones of his wrist apart. The killer's other hand was hidden behind his back and Radford heard the click of his weapon being withdrawn, raring to dig into his insides.

In turn, Radford snatched a throw pillow from the couch and hurled it as hard as possible. It careened into the Box Cutter's mask, which startled him enough to let go of Radford's arm, but not enough to drop the weapon, which swiftly stabbed into his side. Radford yelped at the feeling and grabbed another pillow now that both hands were free, throwing it even harder and, this time, successfully knocking off the hideous box. 

Radford barely registered the wavy blonde hair, downturned eyes, and chiselled jawline of Orion Scar before he realized he should make his getaway to Streber’s room. So he ran through the apartment as fast as he could, his socks slipping across the hard floor. Once they were all safe inside, he slammed and locked the door behind him, pressing his ear against the wood to judge whether the killer - Orion - was going to continue his pursuit.

The doorknob jiggled, then turned against the lock, followed by a series of loud thuds as if the Box Cutter was attempting to break it down. Finally, the titular blade punched through the door. It seemed impossible that a flimsy box cutter could cut through a thick wooden door so effortlessly, but if the killer was the Box Cutter's actor, of course he'd have special access to the weapon used in the movie.

Radford fell away from the door to avoid getting slashed again and sucked in a deep breath, trying not to hyperventilate, knowing that panicking would only make him bleed faster. He hugged Robbie, who was shaking in fear, close to calm the both of them down.

Meanwhile, Streber threw open the window across the room, notebook tucked under his arm, and gestured for Radford and Robbie to climb onto the fire escape. “Don’t worry, guys,” he whispered, glancing over his shoulder as the Box Cutter stabbed through the door again. “It’s gonna be okay, just climb down, all right?”

Radford climbed out, wincing at the wound in his side. He looked down at the hand he'd pressed over it, which was now stained with blood; it’d completely soaked through his shirt. He began to climb down with shaky, unsure steps, but after a few seconds realized Streber wasn’t behind him. He heaved himself back up, gesturing for Robbie to keep going. "Wait, but what about you?”

“What about me?” Streber chortled, leaning out the window, his arms crossed on the sill, the deep red of his shirt glowing in the moonlight. “Come on, Rad. We all knew it would be me next.”

Somehow, that sentence struck Radford deeper than the Box Cutter’s blade. “W- no, Streber, you’re coming with us, okay?” He squinted at him through the darkness, trying to read the strange calm on Streber's face. “I-is that what you’ve been doing here? Just…waiting for him to come for you?” Streber shrugged, echoing the doodle from his notebook, and outrage swelled in Radford as he reached to help him out. “Streb, I know things haven't been great , but that’s no excuse. You don’t have to do this, okay? Please…come down with us.”

Streber smiled weakly and passed the notebook over to Radford’s shaky, outstretched hands; Radford couldn’t help but note that his hands were shaking just as much. “I can't.” He took a shuddering breath and cupped Radford’s cheek, pressing his thumb over his mole with a tender touch that usually would’ve made Radford blush but now only made him want to die. “You’re going to have to be the one who finishes this, Rad, not me. And definitely not Robbie, so you should take him home. Just let me make this choice.”

"W- are you kidding me? That's bullshit!" Radford shook his head, stubborn, and smacked Streber's hand away from his cheek, leaving a smear of blood on his wrist. Still, he couldn't help but wonder if this was what Streber's note had meant by 'ending the movie'. “Why’d you even ask me to come over? So I could watch you die?”

“You don’t have to watch. I just had some stuff I needed to say. Everything else is in my notebook, so take it with you.” Streber jerked his chin at the stairs as a sign to go, his hand resting on top of the window. “Have I ever told you how much I care about you?”

Radford shook like a leaf, his hand pressed firm over his wound while his other clutched Streber's book. “Yeah, but...I…I really wanna hear it again, Streb.”

And before the tears threatening to spill down Radford’s face could, the window slammed shut with an echoing thud, right as the Box Cutter finally busted down the door. Radford considered banging on the window, trying to get Streber to let him back in, but…what would that even accomplish? They’d both be fileted, and Robbie would be left without someone to take him home. 

So with a heavy heart, he hurried down the stairs to meet Robbie at the bottom, trying to keep going, trying not to think about it.

Robbie didn't ask where Streber was. 

Neither of them said anything at all.

Chapter Text

 “Radford.”

Radford looked up from his shirt, his dad’s shirt, which he’d taken off and was using to soak the remaining blood. Or at least, the blood that hadn’t left a trail down the road and up the front steps. “What, Rob.”

“You should go to the hospital,” Robbie advised, not for the first time since Radford started patching himself up in the bathroom. 

All Radford could say was, for once, thank goodness his uncle was a cop. The medicine cabinets were stocked with all sorts of equipment in case of any emergency, serial stabbing included. And because the weapon hadn’t gone deep enough to cause excessive organ damage, Radford figured he could DIY this. He tried to ignore the reality of his mindset that if he got operated on, Robbie would be alone and vulnerable in the waiting room. The Box Cutter could just waltz through those doors and- 

“I don’t need the hospital for this,” he chuckled, though it was strained as he pulled the shirt away from the wound. He watched for a moment to see if it continued to bleed, and was thankful to find that it didn't. “Couldja grab the, uh…what’s it called. Saline?”

Robbie opened the creaky cabinet, the mirror on the front flipping away so Radford could no longer see himself. Couldn’t see the snot dripping down his nose, some of it already dried and flaky. Couldn’t see the tear stains. Couldn’t see the new bald patches hidden beneath his thicket of frizzy ginger hair. He ran his other hand, which was just as bloody, through it so it didn’t hang in his eyes so much. A minute later, a bottle of saline was pushed into his hands and he bit down on his lip before pouring it on the wound, and god it stung. More tears pricked at his eyes as he felt it flush it out - but that just meant it was getting clean, right?

“Do we still have those zip stitches?” he asked next, and Robbie rolled his eyes before pulling them out of the cabinet and tossing them over. 

“This isn’t a good idea,” Robbie chimed again, crossing his arms matter-of-factly as he leaned against the subway tile wall. 

Radford evaded the statement and continued to apply the stitches, wiping away the excess saline before sticking them down on either side and pulling the ties closed. After that, he stood up and grabbed a large bandage, placing it over the stitched gash with care. “See, Rob? I know what I’m doing.” He tossed the bloodied shirt into the hamper under the sink, as if they’d ever be able to get those stains out in the laundry.

“Yeah, I’m sure movies taught you more than any of those dumb college degrees doctors have,” Robbie grumbled to himself - but not quietly enough for Radford not to hear.

“What’s your damage?” Radford asked, his frown deepening. A telltale blush bloomed across Robbie’s face and he looked away, tapping his fingers together and causing Radford to regret snapping almost instantly. “Sorry. Sorry. It’s just been a rough night.”

Robbie nodded and tucked his curls out of his face. “Yeah.” He played with the silver zipper on his jacket for a moment, the metal jingling in the quiet bathroom, before he locked eyes with Radford. “Do you think…I mean, there might be a chance-”

Radford gnawed at his lip, unsure whether he wanted to answer honestly or not. But maybe false hope would be good for both of them right now, so he forced a smile and gave a thumbs up though all he wanted was to flip it over and point it towards hell. “It’s Streber,” he said, voice wavering. “He’s smart enough to get out of something like that.”

  His brother didn’t look like he was convinced either, but nodded either way. “Yeah, you know the rules.”

“What rule is that?”

“If you didn’t see them die,” Robbie explained softly, “then you gotta act like they’re still alive.”

It took everything in Radford to not break down in tears when he heard that because he knew there was only a minimal chance that his friend had survived, if their last conversation was anything to go by. But he couldn’t cry in front of Robbie, because that’d give it away - and they needed hope. They really, really needed-

Hope . That was right, Hope was still at her maternal aunt’s house. Maybe Radford could take Robbie there until this all blew over - especially with the blood trail he left on the streets, it was only a matter of time before the Box Cutter would be slicing and dicing his front door, too. Standing up, though, was more challenging than it looked because on top of his concussion that was still sticking around after five days, now he was woozy from blood loss - and of course the wound still hurt. He braced himself against the back of the toilet, sucking air into his lungs through gritted teeth. 

“You okay?” Robbie asked, reaching out to help, steadying Radford on his feet. It was impossible not to notice how his attention immediately went to where the stitches were. 

“Yeah, Rob. Like I said, I know what I’m doing.” Radford pressed a palm over his bandaged wound - which thankfully still felt zip-stitched closed - and slowly but surely exited the bathroom. He needed to get a shirt on, needed to get his keys so he could drive to their aunt’s…needed to not walk into another wall, god! 

His brother tiptoed behind him, a sliver of his silhouette peeking around the doorway as if he thought Radford couldn’t see him. Radford pretended he didn’t as he picked out a shirt - one he wouldn’t care if he bled through, just a plain blue one - and slipped it over his head. His next step was to tie his long hair up in a ponytail.  

“Where are we going?” Robbie stood in the doorway rocking on his heels, while Radford grabbed the car keys in his blood-stained hands. “I thought you weren’t supposed to drive? We walked earlier-”

“I’m getting you out of town,” Radford interrupted, turning around with his arms crossed, twirling the carabiner around his finger. “You’re staying with Hope and Aunt Meara for now, at least till this all blows over.” After all, ten miles outside the town limits would be okay, right? The Box Cutter wouldn’t leave Los Ocultos, right? 

“What do you mean?” Robbie ventured further inside until he was right in front of Radford, mirroring the pose. “Uncle John said-”

“Fuck Uncle John!”

Robbie recoiled at the curse, while Radford didn't even realize what he'd said.

“My best friend might be dead, Rob,” Radford continued, throwing his hands up in frustration and fear, every emotion inside him exploding out. “Everyone around me might be dead, soon, so it’s better for you to just leave!”

It was hard to ignore how timid Robbie had become within moment, and Radford felt a twinge of sympathy for his brother for having to deal with this. It grew worse when Robbie took a breath and said, “Rad, it’s not your fault that this guy’s killing people."

Maybe it wasn’t, but… “It’s my fault for not seeing it sooner.” Radford massaged his temples, trying to clear his head so he could respond to his brother without shouting. “I should’ve known what the kills matched up to. Instead, I just blamed someone I didn’t like ‘cause I was…” Because he was what exactly, jealous ? He couldn’t say that - that would make it even worse. “Whatever,” he hissed, shaking his head. “Point is, this could’ve all been over and done with by now. So yes, it is my fault he’s killing people, Rob. And I don’t want another death on my conscience, especially not yours.”

“And I don’t want to leave and have yours on mine,” Robbie protested, shaking his head. “I don’t care if you think this is your ‘burden to bear’, or whatever fancy way you wanna put it, but pushing people away isn’t gonna solve anything. And nobody's gonna thank you when you, say, get into a car accident with them because you’re heavily concussed.”

Radford rubbed the back of his head, grimacing as he felt the dull ache of the bruise under his fingers once more. “I get it, Rob, but…you gotta look at it from my perspective.”

"I am. Your perspective's just - sorry to say - stupid," Robbie said, shaking his head in disbelief. "I mean, come on, are you really going to run us all out of town? Will that actually make you feel any better?" He sighed, lowered his head, and kicked the hardwood floor with his dirty Converse, causing it to squeak. "Did running away from Streber make you feel any better?"

“That was different.” Streber had wanted him to get out of there, which in a roundabout way meant his death…hadn’t been Radford’s fault, actually. Streber could’ve come with them, but he chose not to. Radford eyed the bloody notebook sitting on top of his alarm clock, blocking him from reading the time. “It was different.”

“You can’t do this on your own, and I can’t lose you to this, Rad.” Robbie stepped further in the room and offered Radford a smile. “And I know you’re doing everything you can to keep us safe, so I’ll be okay.”

Teary-eyed, Radford made a silent wish that that was true and pulled his brother into a hug. Maybe Robbie had a point about some things - it was a stretch to say all of this was Radford's fault as much as it was to say he could do this on his own. He hadn’t so far; he’d had his friends, family, and whatever secret third thing Dexter was to help. At the same time, though, Robbie didn’t know everything, and he knew at the end of the day he would still have to take him to stay with Hope.

After a long moment, Robbie pulled away and gave him a strange, albeit endearing, look. "Are you crying?"

“It’s been a long night, dude,” Radford managed to sniffle, wiping at his eyes with his shirt collar. He took a moment to steel himself before tucking his keys in his pocket. “All right. Well, no matter what, that guy’s probably following the blood trail, so we gotta get out of here. What do you say we pick up Dexter from the hospital and ask Patty about John while we’re there?”

Robbie nodded, though his smile faltered as he seemed to realize something. “What’re you going to tell Dexter about…?”

Thinking back to the night of his and Dexter’s argument, Radford remembered the way they talked about death. So…he wasn’t sure what he could tell them, what their reaction would be. Would they need time alone to figure out how they should feel? Would it be better to wait and tell them after this all blew over? For some reason, he was drawing a blank on what to do. Maybe the only one who might know was Streber, since he seemed to hold a better understanding of the exterminator's psyche. He grabbed the notebook from the clock and flipped through the pages upon pages of notes and doodles before finally reaching the end, where another entry was scribbled down. It seemed like another part of the late-night note Radford read earlier.

Just in case what needs to happen happens, I need to make it known that I don’t want to disappear. So I need the first person who knows to be my father. I want to make him hurt, I want to make him feel like it’s his fault this happened to me. I want to make him feel like it’s his fault for not being better for my mom and I. I just hope he won't do to me what he always wanted to do to her. The second person to know should be my mother for similar reasons. I’m not sure if I want my friends to know. At least Dexter won’t have me there to enable them anymore. I never meant to do that, I always wanted to help so we they could be happier but at the end of the day I know I only made things worse. Maybe they’ll get better, but there’s a higher chance they’ll get worse, so maybe they shouldn’t know. As for Radford-

Radford shut the book, not wanting to read further. It felt grimy, but even worse, it almost felt like a suicide note and a quick scan of the next few lines confirmed it. But, he mused to himself, at least he knew how to handle the Dexter situation. He hated having to lie about something like that, and about someone they both cared for, but that would be the only way to get through this situation without their nonexistent plan falling to pieces. 

So, he packed the notebook, some clothes, and a makeshift first aid kit into a bag, which he gave to Robbie before they headed out to the car. He hoped his vertigo would subside enough for them to reach the hospital and wherever else they might need to go that night. As he climbed into the front seat, he noticed how Robbie chose to sit in the back even though he was tall enough to ride in the front now.

“You okay?” Radford asked as he looked at Robbie in the rearview mirror. “You usually call shotgun.” Speaking of, he hoped his gun was still tucked away in the glove box. Apparently Streber stowed it in there the night he’d shot Dexter, just in case any of the beat cops heard the shot and came to investigate. 

Robbie shrugged and hugged the backpack close. “Gotta be a backseat driver in case you conk out.”

“You know ‘backseat driver’ doesn’t literally mean from the backseat, right? It means a nitpicky passenger,” Radford chuckled, starting the car and turning to a station they’d both like. 

As Radford reversed out of the driveway and cranked up the radio, he was oblivious to the zipper of Robbie’s backpack being undone, and the pages of Streber's notebook being flipped as Robbie read the last bit of the entry Radford just couldn't bring himself to finish.

As for Radford, he’s probably the one who will have to know. We all know how these movies work, it puts a target on everyone around the protagonist. “Streber, with that logic, you can just stay away from him!” But I can’t help but be around him. This might be selfish, but if I'm going to die, I'm glad I'll be with him before it happens. At least I’ll die happy, on my terms. I’m just sorry I’ll have to hurt him in order to do that. 

Chapter Text

Eden Hospital was just as cold and unfeeling as it had been the night of the third murder. 

Radford was honestly surprised that he had made it in one piece, but the way Patty was glaring at him made him wish he hadn't come in the first place. Coincidentally, it seemed she had taken a break from her duties in the morgue to talk to Dexter, so he managed to catch them both.

“Why are you here, Radford?” Patty asked, stone-faced, standing up from the chair beside Dexter’s bed. “You need to rest.”

“I’m not doing that bad,” Radford protested, seconds before the overhead lights seemed to flare at him. He stumbled sideways, gripping the doorframe as the world spun like a top. He felt Robbie’s small hands on his shoulders, attempting to steady him. Patty raised an unamused eyebrow, her mouth pressing into a thin line at the bottom of her face, and Radford let out a nervous chuckle. “Anyways, I’m just here to pick up Dexter.”

Dexter exchanged a glance with Patty before squinting at Radford through their thick lenses, wrinkling their nose as they scrutinized him. “Y’know, Popcorn Head, I’d rather walk. You can’t even stand up straight, and I’d hate to see you operate a car right now.” 

Patty groaned in annoyance and breezed past Radford and Robbie, heading who knew where while Radford staggered over to the chair the forensic pathologist had been seated. “Good to see you too,” he muttered, flopping down. As he did, the wound in his side throbbed, and he put pressure on it with his hand, hoping the pain would fizzle away.

"Careful, Rad," Robbie said, hovering near the doorway and pulling on his backpack straps.

Radford looked from his brother to Dexter, whose gaze was fixed on his wounded side. Cursing their perceptiveness, Radford tried to think of the best way to explain other than “I got stabbed,” because surely if he told them that, there’d be no end to the ridicule. So, he forced a smile and said, “Stomach cramp.”

“That’s not where your stomach is," Dexter sneered as they propped their chin in their hand, nails poking their skin.

“Okay, side cramp. Whatever.” Radford heard Robbie tittering from behind him and rolled his eyes. “Point is, I’m here to pick you up, whether you like it or not, and we’re going to go find my uncle.”

“Oh! I think I know where he is,” Dexter exclaimed. They pushed themself upright in the hospital bed and adjusted their glasses from where they'd slipped. “There’s two safe houses on the outskirts of town.”

Radford didn’t even want to know how they figured that out - wasn’t the whole point of safe houses to be secure and out of public knowledge? “So, the thing about that is…” he hesitated, running his fingers through his hair and tugged at it as he grappled for the right words. “Uh…I saw the Box Cutter. Without his mask, I mean.”

"Oh." Radford saw the gears turning in Dexter's mind and it didn't take long for them to put two and two together. "So Streber was right? Publicity stunt by one of the actors?”

Radford winced at the mention of Streber as much as he tried not to; he couldn't let Dexter know what had happened yet. “Yep, Orion," he managed. "The weapon he’s using seems like the exact one they used in the movies.”

“And…you figured that out with your 'side cramp'.” Out of instinct, Radford lifted his hand to cover the offending area again and Dexter nodded, a shit-eating grin on their face. “Thought so! You got got, then, Mel .”

“Could everyone stop calling me Mel?!” Radford yelled as Patty reentered the room with a pill bottle in her (hopefully clean) gloved hand. She stared at him for a long, long time before pressing the bottle into his hand, shaking her head in disapproval. Ignoring her icy look, Radford instead turned his attention to the bottle in his hand; the print was too small to read and his dizziness made him not want to try. "Um, what’s in here?” he asked, shaking it around, the pills rattling about within.

“Cyanide,” she said with a deadpan expression as she handed over a bottle of water, and Radford blinked at her while Dexter busted out laughing. “Obviously, I’m kidding. It’s Dramamine. It should help with the dizziness.” 

“Cool.” Man, did Patty have a weird sense of humor; no wonder she and Dexter got along so well. Radford unscrewed the lid of the water and the Dramamine, popping the pills into his mouth. Once he swallowed, he asked, “And do you know which safe house John’s at? We need to go see him.”

“Yeah,” Patty responded easily with a shrug, though when her affirmation wasn't followed by an address, Radford gestured for her to keep going. Patty just rolled her eyes. “You can get autographs another time. Until the killer-”

“-Orion Scar,” Radford cut in.

“You know that doesn’t make any sense, right?" Patty shook her head, incredulous. "The killings started before the actors came to town, and they haven’t been allowed to leave the safe houses without surveillance.”

She had a point - but Radford knew what he saw and it was important that at least someone outside him, Robbie, and Dexter knew. “Then explain why I saw Orion's face when I knocked off the killer’s mask," he retorted. "Explain why the weapon he’s using is just like the one in the movies.”

Patty tilted her head in thought before reaching into her pocket, withdrawing a utility knife, and tossing it from gloved hand to gloved hand. Radford’s hackles went up at the sight - and she noticed. “So it was something like this. Well, at least I was right about the M.O. matching up,” she mused. “The marks didn’t match up with any regular knives I knew, nor did the patterns make much sense. At first, I thought it was a cross, but it’s more like how you’d open a box.”

Both Dexter and Radford nodded. “Exactly!” Radford exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air. If Patty agreed, why wasn't she on board with the plan?

Patty continued. “ But even if we’re right about the killer being a Box Cutter copycat, it couldn’t possibly be Orion." She carefully placed the tool down on the table. “Could be a fan who just happens to look like the actor, and you were just seeing what you wanted to see.”

Radford stood akimbo, trying to appear assertive even though the way Patty looked at him made him want to melt into the linoleum. “Even if I was, do you really want to take a gamble like that?”

Before the pathologist could reply, Dexter whistled and waved their hand in front of Radford’s face, having climbed out of bed while the two were arguing. They still favored their leg, but they were standing - much better than Radford had expected. “Hey, hey, whoa, before you go all ‘big strong man’ on my friend here, I already told you I knew where they were.”

“You said there were two ,” Radford corrected. 

“Actually, they have a point,” Robbie cut in, shifting from foot to foot; he clearly hadn't expected them to be here this long. “They wouldn’t keep both of them at the same house, right?”

Dexter pointed at Robbie in agreement, while Patty just shook her head and said, “You do realize that, if you go there, you may be leading the killer right to them?”

“Then I guess this time I’ll have to make sure I don’t miss,” Radford said, turning towards the door and gesturing for Dexter to follow. “Let’s go.”

Patty blinked at him, glanced down at Dexter’s leg, then back at Radford, seemingly connecting the dots of Dexter's mystery gunshot wound. Finally, she huffed and walked out of the room, muttering that she was calling John.

“See ya, Patty!” Dexter called after her before offering Radford a lopsided grin. “She’s a treat.”

“So are you,” Radford grumbled. He was already regretting his plan; he didn't want to spend the rest of the night with them. “Did you get all your paperwork in order?”

“Yeah, and depending on how the night goes, I’ll be violating the care plan quite a bit.” Dexter snickered and nudged Radford, making his already shaky mood plummet even further because of how much that reminded him of Streber. How much it reminded him of how Streber could never see the end of this. How he was probably lying dead in his own bloodied mattress, eyes staring at nothing...

Dexter yanked him out the door before Radford could agonize over it further. “By the way, don’t think I haven’t forgotten about the poster you promised me. You better hand it over once we take care of that sleazeball actor.”

As they checked out at the front and walked to the truck, Radford had to wonder: would Dexter still be as nonchalant about the situation after learning Streber was likely dead? Would they still act like it was just another day for them?

Once they got in the car, Dexter kicked their feet up on the dash and fiddled with the radio while Robbie huddled in the backseat, shivering from the cold weather outside. The temperature had dropped even further, making the interior so chilly that Radford's seatbelt felt like ice when he tried to buckle up. Radford hoped the safe house was near his aunt’s place so he could drop off Robbie first - he didn’t want him to have to stay in the cold truck longer than necessary. After making sure everyone was buckled in - including Dexter, who took their sweet time - he turned off the radio to Dexter's dismay, turned up the heater, and headed toward the city limits. 

The downtown area was deserted, with no one daring to walk or even drive in the thick fog shrouding the streets. Of course it was after curfew, but Radford had expected to pass at least a few cars as he drove. The only discernible silhouettes were those of power lines, mailboxes, and the occasional flickering streetlights. A few frosty crystals dotted the windshield as snow began to fall - it was that time of year, wasn't it?

As Radford stopped at a red light, he noticed movement in his peripherals and turned towards Dexter. He blinked in surprise when he was met with the sight of a strange knife glinting in the glow of the traffic light. When he realized Dexter was watching him, he tore his eyes away and continued to drive, accidentally running the light as sweat dripped down his forehead. Why were they playing with a knife - especially around his brother? “Um, why do you have a knife?” he echoed his thoughts, trying not to let on how uncomfortable he felt.

“I always carry one on me,” Dexter chuckled as they explained. “Actually, that's one of the reasons your uncle’s caught me before. You’re not allowed to carry balisongs here, apparently.”

“Balisongs?” Robbie piped up from the back, before Radford could ask the same question.

"Butterfly knives. They're pretty cool." Dexter flipped the knife open again, gripping the two handles in their right while they poked at the blade's tip with their index. “They’re not allowed for concealed carry here. But, you know, who cares.”

Radford would’ve thought they’d learned from the first time they were put in the slammer, but then again, Dexter didn’t seem like the type to “learn” from their mistakes. “Not that that’s not cool,” he said slowly, “but could you put that away?”

“What’s the difference between this and the gun you had?” Dexter questioned, and Radford wanted to hide from the accusatory look they were sending him. “If we’re dealing with a ‘big bad’ tonight, we can’t just go in empty-handed.”

“You had a gun?” Robbie asked, leaning forward in his seat so he was in between Radford and Dexter. 

“Yes, Rob,” Radford chided as he merged onto the highway towards their aunt’s house. “Sit back in your seat.”

“Where are we going?” Dexter flipped the knife closed before they tucked it back into their pocket. “This leads out of town . ”

“I’m just making a stop,” Radford replied, speeding up significantly as the snow pelted harder at the windshield. Now, it seemed more like sleet - in any case, a quick glance in the rearview mirror told him Robbie had figured out his plan. 

“Rad,” Robbie said in a warning tone, “I hope you’re not taking me to stay with Aunt Meara.”

“Yeah, we don’t have time for detours,” Dexter tacked on. “If the Box Cutter didn’t get his fix with you-"

Radford felt his stomach curl with guilt.

"-He’s probably going after the easiest target now.”

“How do you know?” Radford snapped, glaring over at Dexter. Dexter pursed their lips and glared out the window as they hugged their arms around themself. Not dwelling on it, he continued, “Look, Rob, you can’t be here for this. You’re just a kid. I don’t care how tall you are.”

That seemed to shut Robbie up, but he looked just as pissed off as Dexter. Even when Radford tried to reach around the seat to hold his hand, or at least squeeze it to reassure that he still loved him, Robbie’s wasn’t there. Once again, Radford couldn’t help but question whether this was the best course of action but eventually pressed on, driving in silence save for the flakes tap-tapping at the windshield. 

“He could’ve killed them all by now,” Dexter murmured after a while, rubbing at their goose-pimpled arms. “When was the last time you heard from your uncle? From his little boy-toy of a deputy? For that matter, what about Streber , because he hasn't messaged me all night! ”

The brakes squealed as Radford whipped to look at the exterminator, who was… right . He hadn’t heard from John in days, and though that was normal per his job, he had said he’d keep in touch as he harbored the prime suspect of the murder. As for Streber ...he didn't want to think about him. He really, really couldn't - not right now, not with Dexter next to him with a knife. In front of his sweet little brother with a knife.

Still, here he was, once again, making ridiculous, impulsive decisions. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t thought of that. Of course Robbie’s safety was important, but Jack and John were the first - possibly only - line of defense against the Box Cutter, because the other cops would see him and run off screaming. Radford didn’t want to know what might happen, who else might be slaughtered, if there was no one to protect and serve. He scoured his memory of the highway, where the next exit was - hopefully he hadn’t passed the last one, because he couldn’t go twenty miles round-trip in a situation this dire. For all he knew, the Box Cutter had already gotten there after finishing off-

“I expected as much,” Dexter snorted, adding insult to injury. “Y’know, I’ve been wondering lately about how idiotic you’ve been about this whole thing-”

“-Dexter, shut up,” Radford cut them off, still trying to think as a few cars rushed past them on the highway.

“No! Apparently, I’m the only one around here with good ideas, so I won’t. And my ‘good idea’ right now?” Dexter leaned across the console, glaring at Radford, jamming their finger into his chest. “You’re no final anything . I think you were late to the party that night in the theater, and that’s why that random kid died. It was supposed to be you .”

Their words echoed in Radford’s ears, his back pressed against the freezing window as they leaned further into his space. “Wh-?”

“ You're the fool,” Dexter chuckled humorlessly, “not just a fool, an idiot . And you’ve been one the entire time.”

Chapter Text

Melina Ferrera had a beautiful mother.

The family of three lived a happy life in their quaint house with the crimson door. However, despite the warmth they shared amongst one another, her mother felt inadequate, mourning the loss of her husband the older Mel and her little brother grew.

As cliche as it was, a young postman who had just started on their route began to take a liking to Ms. Ferrera. Mel would come home from work, and he’d be there, cooking at the stove or snuggling with her mother on the couch. And she appreciated it. He was a suave-yet-soft-spoken man, very handsome - someone she felt comfortable allowing to get close to the family. She missed her father too but had long since accepted that her mother craved a lover and didn’t want to die alone. 

So he was there for birthdays and holidays, rendered a regular part of the family. He laughed along to inside jokes that he appreciated, even if he didn’t understand them. He drove Mel to work and her brother to school. He showered not just her mother but the entire family with love. And Mel trusted him right up until the day of her twentieth birthday. She remembered coming home from a celebration with her friends to find a red-wrapped box on her bed, along with a long letter confessing his undying love for her - not her mother, but her . In that moment, everything, the rapport he’d built up over the years shattered, and she ran downstairs to show her mother the letter written in only the finest of prose. 

The postman was thrown out and never seen again. That is, until the night she found her mother slaughtered mercilessly outside their home, but that couldn't be proven until many kills later when he finally revealed his face. 

Was her mother a fool for trusting the man and bringing him into her home? Or was Mel the fool for trusting him around her delicate mother, her brother, and herself? 

...And was Radford the fool for being naive enough to care?

He gritted his teeth, resisted the burning desire to punch Dexter in the jaw so they couldn’t spit their acidic words anymore, and pulled off at the next exit. Soon enough, they entered a neighborhood that looked even more lifeless than downtown. All the curtains were drawn, doors locked. Porchlights caused the snowflakes to twinkle in the otherwise still night. Though the snow only glazed the ground, Radford noticed red footprints that were slowly being filled back in. 

The trail led to the one house on the street with an open door, light and heat escaping into the cold night. Radford’s heart skipped a beat. He stepped on the gas, ignoring the speed limit and reaching around Dexter, who was saying… something …to grab the gun out of the glove box. 

“Where are you going?” Dexter scoffed as Radford put the car in park and got out. 

Radford didn’t answer, clicking the safety off and racing to the open doorway, snow crunching underfoot. After peering inside to ensure the coast was clear, he clutched the gun in front of him with shaky hands and snuck as quietly as he could through the downstairs, following the nonsensical path of footprints. The house was silent except his labored breathing and quickening heartbeat until he heard the door click shut behind him. Radford spun around, gun at the ready, only to see Dexter. They gestured for silence and produced their balisong with their other hand, flipping it open with a loud snap. At least they’d gotten over themself and were helping him as 'foolish' as he was, but he wasn’t sure whether that would be a blessing or a curse. 

The duo was startled by the sudden crackle of a police radio from upstairs. With that, Radford began ascending them, with Dexter on his heels. The staircase displayed multiple sets of footprints going in both directions, though they all led to a single room. Radford and Dexter exchanged a look before Radford turned the corner, coming face to face with...

Oh, God.

“John?!” 

Radford tucked the gun away and rushed over to his uncle, who was slumped against the wall opposite the door. As he got closer, he noticed the shallow rise and fall of his chest, but the sight of his bloodied shirt meant he likely wouldn’t be breathing for much longer. He clutched his radio in hand as it continued to crackle uselessly, and in his other hand was his wallet, open to reveal the photos inside. Radford felt a twinge as he noticed the blood covering his and Robbie’s photos; he must have pulled them from behind Hope's so he could look at them, too.

“John, hey,” Radford murmured as he knelt beside him, shaking his shoulders.

“Don’t do that!” Dexter whispered furiously from their post near the door. “You want him to live, right?”

Radford, once again, felt the urge to punch them even though they were right. He looked back at his poor uncle, whose eyes had since blinked open. 

“Oh…hey, kiddo,” John wheezed with a little chuckle, shifting so he was propped up a bit higher. He glanced at Dexter with an inquisitive frown. “And you. What’re y’all doin’ here?”

“Shhh, it doesn’t matter,” Radford insisted. “Where’s Jack and the actors?”

“I ‘unno where Jack is,” John said, nodding at his radio. “I tried callin’ for backup but heard nothin’ but static. Was tryin’ to tell him to look for a pizza boy dressed as that movie that just came out.” 

So the Box Cutter was still dressed in a Crust Corner uniform and the infamous Box Cutter mask - which meant he’d returned to retrieve it after… well . Radford picked up the radio and spoke into it. “Officer down, I repeat, officer down. Jack, do you copy?”

More static. 

As John glanced at the photos in his wallet again, his eyelids began drooping, and Radford repeated himself, starting to panic. “Jack, do you copy? Officer down.”

“Jus' call an ambulance,” John slurred as he started to lose consciousness again. “He doesn’t need t’ see me like this.”

Radford glanced back at Dexter, who already had their phone pressed to their ear. He turned back to John, patting his face to keep him awake. “Hey, you gotta work with me. Come on. Where are the actors? Where’s Orion?”

“Was watchin’ Croft,” John managed, “Jack has Scar. Croft made it out the window with my keys-” he nodded towards the big window above him, “-but he chased after her. S’why he didn’t finish me off, I was just…in the way. You callin’ that ambulance, son?”

“Dexter’s got it,” Radford replied as he heard Dexter start conversing with the 911 dispatcher. Then, he registered what John said. “Wait, Jack’s been watching Orion?”

“Mm.” John nodded as much as he could. “What of it?”

Radford considered telling John that it was very likely Jack was dead and that was why he wasn’t answering, but ultimately decided not to. He didn't want John to be miserable in what could well have been his last moments. “We were gonna check up on him next, is all.”

“‘Ppreciate it.” John’s eyes fell shut as he lifted his now-free hand to press over the growing bloodstain on his shirt. “Don’t worry ‘bout me, kiddo. I’ve got hope.”

Radford didn’t want to leave him there, but there was no time to lose - they needed to find Jack as soon as possible. Dexter hung up the 911 call and held up ten fingers, and Radford assumed that meant the ambulance would be there in ten minutes. The exterminator led the way back down the stairs and out the front door, then down the street to the other safe house. This was one was locked up tight, though Radford managed to spot two figures through the translucent curtain, running frantically.

“Dexter.” Radford tapped Dexter's shoulder, pointing at the moving shadows within the house. “We gotta get inside.” 

Dexter nodded and assessed the door before sticking the tip of their knife in the lock. After a few moments of fidgeting, the lock clicked, and they burst through the door just to be greeted by the beep of a smoke detector and the fwoosh of a fire extinguisher. 

They discovered Jack with the extinguisher while Orion drowned a blackened… something in the kitchen sink. No blood, no gore, just a dinner gone wrong. In any case, Radford pulled out his gun, aiming it directly at Orion, who noticed the weapon and raised his hands, face growing pale. After putting out the oven fire, Jack withdrew his gun, aiming it at Radford. A bead of sweat dripped down Radford's face, but he didn't lower his weapon.

“What’re you doing?” The deputy prompted, narrowing his eyes and jerking his chin at the gun in Radford's hands. 

“I know this looks bad, Jack, but trust me," Radford rushed to explain, "Orion’s the killer.”

The actor in question looked offended, although he didn't lower his hands. “What do you mean, ‘I’m the killer’?”

“You- I saw you, don’t even try to pretend.” Radford felt his anger swell as he adjusted his grip on the gun. How could Orion target his best friend and uncle in his brutal schemes, then turn around and pretend Radford hadn’t seen him under that mask? “You’re the Box Cutter.”

“Is this some paparazzi thing?” Orion half-chuckled, glancing between Radford, Dexter, and Jack. “‘Cause this is kind of weird. I guess I can applaud you on the theatrics, but if that’s a real gun, I want it out of my face.” 

Dexter groaned, throwing up their arms in an overdramatic shrug. “Welp, this is what I get for trusting what a blind guy saw.”

“You’re half blind,” Radford retorted. He looked back at Orion again, who truly seemed to have no clue what was going on; Radford lowered the gun, and Jack put his back in its holster. “Wait. So…if you’re not the killer, then why did he look just like you?”

“Just like me?” Orion tilted his head. “You think it’s someone trying to ruin my reputation? One of my stunt doubles originally tried out for my part in the first movie.” 

Radford considered it for a moment…but no, it couldn’t have been a stunt double. He peered a little closer at Orion to double check, but the resemblance between him and the Box Cutter was uncanny: same moles, same constellations of freckles across their noses. Same jawline, downturned eyes...wow he was pretty up close...

“Wait,” Dexter interrupted, waving their hands in a frenzy. Radford noticed Jack eyeing their knife, but thankfully the deputy looked more confused over the situation than anything. “Wait, hear me out.”

Radford turned to look at Dexter, eyebrows raised as he tried not to stare at Orion. "What is it, Dexter?"

“So, remember when Streber mentioned something about a signal jammer?” Radford nodded, tilting his head. He thought they'd axed that theory? But Dexter continued, “The reason a signal jammer works is because it’s on the same frequency as, say, a cell phone. It blocks the signal and keeps it from sending and receiving information. Like the security cameras at the theater, or the police radios…” Dexter turned to Radford. “Did you notice anything else going on the fritz whenever the Box Cutter was near?”

Now that he thought back to earlier, Streber’s calls about the deadly delivery hadn’t gone through, and the TV turned to static right before the Box Cutter came in…”Yeah, I did.” He wound a curl around his finger. "So you think the signal jammer theory is true?”

Dexter shook their head, bouncing on their toes. For someone who wasn’t ‘dorky’, they sure were excited to explain their theory. “Not necessarily! But, stay with me here, what would look exactly like Orion, exactly like the Box Cutter, and what would have the same weapons and capabilities. And what would block a frequency - a camera frequency, especially - almost like a living signal jammer?”

Radford’s eyes widened. “Are you saying…”

“Yep!” Dexter turned to address the rest of the group, hands on their hips. “We’re dealing with the real Box Cutter, fresh off the reel.” 

The four exchanged glances, waiting with bated breath for someone to say something about the rather outlandish theory. Then, Jack shrugged and wiped his brow. "Wouldn't be the strangest thing to happen in this town," he said, forcing a nervous laugh. "I don't know how to handle something like that, but now that we know..."

"We've got to find Katie," Radford insisted, recalling what John had said. "We...saw her driving away." That was a lie, but he didn't want to worry Jack about John - not right now. Fortunately, Jack didn't seem to dwell on that and grabbed the keys to his car, hurrying outside and motioning for Orion, Radford, and Dexter to follow.

“Wait,” Radford said, pointing down the street. “You can take Orion, but Dexter and I are taking the truck.”

“What truck?” Jack asked, following Radford's finger to the truck...or rather, where it used to be. 

Radford's eyes flew wide. Robbie was in that truck. So either Robbie miraculously learned to drive, or the Box Cutter had taken it to chase after Katie. That only added to the growing pit in his stomach.

“Follow the tire tracks,” Radford ordered without a beat, now more grateful for the snow than ever. He slid into the front passenger’s seat, leaving Dexter and Orion to take the back. With a quick glance in the rearview mirror, he could tell Dexter was a little starstruck, just like he'd been before realizing his brother was in moral danger.

Now that he thought about it, Katie being the Box Cutter's goal made sense - after all, she was Mel’s actress, and if the Box Cutter was the Box Cutter, of course he wouldn’t know the difference whether she was an actress or not. He would chase after her, just like he did in the movies, until he got her - or she got him. In fact, if Robbie hadn’t been dragged into it, Radford would have been okay with letting Katie finish it herself. 

They sped off through the snowy night and, after some time, pulled back into downtown, having gone on surface streets rather than the highway. They drove on, headlights penetrating the fog and snowfall, until Jack let out a gasp.

The fog cleared to reveal a police car and Radford's truck next to - or rather driven into - the movie theater. The vehicle was totaled, like whoever had been driving the truck meant to plow it into the building. Jack pulled up next to the crash and ran to the smashed car, ducking his head in the broken window - moments later, he leaned back out and shook his head. 

Radford climbed out of the car and joined Jack, while Orion, now petrified in the back seat, took a shuddering breath and muttered about wanting to go back home. The policeman climbed over the totaled car and through the hole in the theater wall, pulling out his gun. Radford followed suit, carefully making his way inside.

The floor was carpeted by roaches and some snow that had blown in, but Jack seemed to know where he was going, following a trail of smashed bugs towards theater six. Soon Dexter caught up, flipping their knife. They seemed almost a little too excited to use it - and to crush the bugs underfoot. 

“I thought you exterminated this place,” Radford whisper-yelled, shooting Dexter a glare as he watched the swarm. 

“Yeah, for free, when I was trying to see a movie,” Dexter hissed in return. “Can’t blame me for being a little unfocused.”

“Oh yeah, but you had plenty of time to fuck around in the alley afterwards,” Radford sneered, and Dexter shot him an odd, uncomfortable look that made him feel he shouldn't have said that. “What? Just saying.”

“Yeah…” Dexter pursed their lips before pulling out their phone and checking their messages. It seemed some were from clients, but obviously there were none from Streber. “Do you know why Streber isn’t talking to me? He isn’t upset at me about that whole ‘beheaded friend’ thing, right?”

Radford shook his head. It wouldn’t be a good time to tell Dexter what happened, not right before handling the Box Cutter, so he just forced a smile. “I’m sure everything’s okay. He didn’t seem mad.” And he hadn’t seemed mad, so Radford didn’t feel terrible about stretching the truth at least a little. Dexter would find out in time, when they were all in a better place, and it would be okay...he hoped.

“Thanks,” they said, almost sounding genuine before they nearly crashed into Jack, who’d halted outside theater six. The caution tape had been ripped down, and a buzzing noise filtered from within the doors. 

“What are you two doing in here?” Jack asked, glaring over his shoulder. 

“No one else has your back here,” Radford explained. Not to mention, his brother was in there.

Jack glanced between him and Dexter, then sighed. “All right. Just stay behind me. I'm gonna see if I can try and talk the killer down, but if not…”

Radford heard him loud and clear. If not, go in guns a-blazing. 

Jack opened the doors and slipped inside, and after a few moments, Radford followed, then Dexter, who had distracted themself with the roaches yet again. Eugh .

When they entered the auditorium, the screen was, for some reason, alive with static. Seated right in front of it was Robbie, whose face was pale as he covered his eyes, trying not to look at it. No Box Cutter was in sight, but for Robbie to be this scared, he had to be around somewhere...right?

This only raised more questions: if Katie was the true final girl, then why hadn’t the movie ended after the Box Cutter killed her in the car accident? Radford exchanged a look with Dexter, who seemed to think the same thing: this wasn’t supposed to happen. 

“It’s going to be okay, Rob,” Radford whispered, immediately ignoring what Jack said and hurrying to where Robbie was seated, though his brother only shook his head in response.  “Are you hurt at all?”

“The crash knocked me out,” Robbie explained, keeping his tone low. “Other than that, I don’t think so. I haven’t seen the Box Cutter, though.”

Radford peered around the auditorium, though not for too long at the static screen lest he get a headache. “You think he left?”

“There’s no way,” Jack answered, shaking his head. He started walking around, then stepped up to the screen, pulling out a flashlight to check around it. Dexter also started looking, wandering towards the hallway while Radford knelt in front of Robbie. 

“You didn’t get up and look?” he asked, being patient with his poor brother.

“I don’t wanna get up.” Robbie shook his head, tugging at his hair. “I don’t want him to catch me, Rad.”

“This is why I wanted to take you to stay with Hope,” Radford chided, gently removing his hands from his hair and combing it softly with his fingers. “I hate that you’re here.”

“You think I like that I'm here?” Robbie joked, leaning into the loving touch, though his smile soon dropped. He jolted away, Radford accidentally tearing out some tangled strands of his hair as he did. “Look out!”

Radford rolled away just in time for the Box Cutter’s blade to slam into the armrest of Robbie's seat. He fumbled in his pocket for the gun but was interrupted by Jack who barreled into the killer, sending the both of them tumbling across the sticky, bloody, roach-infested carpet. Jack’s usually kind face was marred with concentrated fury as he prepared to crush the box mask’s hideous smile with his fist, but before he could, the Box Cutter managed to throw him off. At that point, Dexter had heard the commotion and emerged from the hall, their balisong glinting menacingly in the light from the screen. Radford stood up too, aiming the gun right at the Box Cutter’s head, at that one gleaming eye that seemed to jeer at him. 

“I’ve never been able to see my potential beyond Melina,” the Box Cutter began, tilting his head at Radford. “By that, I mean…I’ve never been able to survive this part. She always gets me in the end, somehow. It’s honestly a shame I had to kill her.” He laughed a horrible, wheezy laugh, tossing his weapon from hand to hand. “She was such a sweetheart until she rejected me. She ruined my life and I wasn't even that much older than her. Her mom, on the other hand, was a desperate fucking cougar - forty years old, trying to get it on with me. I was twenty three .”

Radford and Dexter, once again, locked eyes. Dexter darted forward to make a move, but the Box Cutter whipped around and kicked them in their still-healing leg, knocking them over. 

“Oh, so everyone gets to have a monologue but me! I get it.” The Box Cutter spat, throwing his hands towards the ceiling. “Point is, I loved Mel. I loved her. I got rid of everyone else in the way, stomped out every single useless person she talked to - everyone wearing that damned color of the gift I gave her. You know she never even opened the box? She only opened the letter. So I opened the boxes for her, and she still didn’t fucking want me.”

Jack, who’d gotten up by then, shakily helped Dexter back to their feet as he kept his gun trained at the back of the slasher's head. Radford tried to escape from where he was being caged, but the Box Cutter stepped in his way.

“You understand me, right?” The Box Cutter continued, tilting his head at Radford, running his finger along the sharp blade of his namesake. “You know what it’s like to care - unlike Mel. She stepped on everyone to get away from me rather than just accept that I loved her. She ruined her family in order to cut me out!” 

If this man somehow didn't turn out to be the Box Cutter straight from the movie, he was, at the very least, delusional. Listening to this was making Radford’s skin crawl, and the fact Robbie was having to hear it too... “ I don’t think you get to have that perspective, ” he managed to stutter at last, narrowing his eyes. “ You know we all go to ridiculous lengths for people we care about, but what you did wasn’t that. Killing a girl’s loved ones so she’ll only want you? That’s ridiculous. No, pathetic . ” He swallowed hard, taking a step back as the Box Cutter stepped closer, trying to shield Robbie. Even just trying to force them out of the way is ridiculous and pathetic , he thought to himself as his gaze flitted to Dexter, who gave him a nod and a thumbs up to keep the Box Cutter distracted. 

“I guess you must be pretty pathetic too, then, considering what you've done,” the Box Cutter said, glaring at Radford with that dreaded, glowing eye. “And anyways, if she cared about them, why’d she make it so easy for me to kill them?” 

“She didn’t,” Radford responded, clenching his fists, “and it wasn’t her fault. She did what anyone would’ve done in her situation. Her world was flipped upside down, and you expect her to be perfect ? Sure! Maybe she was a little immature. But you backed her into that corner. She was terrified of you.” He lifted the gun with trembling hands. “And I think you know that. And you’re happy about it. You wanted to hurt her."

"She broke my heart," the killer rasped, stepping dangerously closer. "She deserved it."

Radford took another look at Dexter and Jack, who were gesturing for him to shoot. He took a shuddering breath, scrambling for something cool to say - after all he'd been through, he was going to relish this. "Then allow me to break it again.”

With that, before the Box Cutter could manage another awful word, Radford pulled the trigger, the bullet hitting him square in the chest - and then right through him, instead leaving a bullet hole in the stage. The Box Cutter glanced down at the wound, the area taken over by static for a moment before he looked back up with a grim chuckle. Radford tried again, and the same thing happened. Dexter pressed their fingers to their temples in exasperation, and Radford's heart dropped to his stomach as the Box Cutter began to circle him like a shark.

“Hmmm, you’re a good shot,” the Box Cutter mused, before snatching the gun from Radford's sweaty grip. “Didn’t you shoot your friend over there? I’m starting to think you did that on purpose.”

“And I’m starting to think I’m not as big a fan of you,” Dexter chimed in before knocking the Box Cutter’s mask off. That caught him off guard enough for them to snatch the gun back, hand it to Radford, and kick the killer down. 

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” the Box Cutter wheezed as he turned his gleaming gaze to Dexter. “Especially not when you find out what he’s been lying to you about.” He jerked his head towards Radford, but Dexter didn’t waver, fanning their knife threateningly.

“You know, normally something like that would be titillating, but unfortunately for you, I know what you’re trying to do,” Dexter sneered, leaning down so they were in his face - even going so far as to spit in it. Now that Radford wasn't on the other end of this behavior, it was kind of awesome to watch. “And frankly, yeah! You are pathetic. You’re just a thorn in everyone’s side. A pest, if you will. And guess what I do with pests?”

The Box Cutter watched Dexter’s blade as it came towards his face, but right before it hit home, he jammed his own weapon into their wrist and knocked the balisong away. Dexter bit their lip and inhaled hard, especially when the box cutter was yanked out, but they kicked him back to the ground anyway.

"You caught me on a bad day," they said as they glowered at him. Blood gushed down their arm as they leaned to grab their knife again, then stabbed their former favorite slasher in the face. They left more wounds of static behind as they began to laugh, stabbing him so many times that he didn’t even look like Orion Scar anymore. It was now only a blob of static, a projection that just so happened to have the actor's silhouette. 

Radford looked over his shoulder to see Robbie, who had been silent this whole time, staring in horror as he white-knuckled the armrests. Jack had a similar expression as he watched Dexter aimlessly stab the projection, listening to their crazed laughter slowly turning into sobs. The weight of this whole thing seemed to resonate in them at last - the weight of this and all the other burdens they carried. The weight of their needs that hadn't been fulfilled in days.

But it wasn't fixing anything; the projection still writhed and laughed beneath them, no matter how many times it was struck by their blade. Radford was beginning to accept that this thing had to be invincible, until a quick look at the screen reminded him.

It was a projection .

After all, why would it steal his gun if it wasn't threatened by it? Maybe he couldn't shoot it, but he could undoubtedly shoot something else.

Radford sucked in a deep breath and, for once, chose to take a gamble. Rather than lift the weapon to shoot at the killer directly, he raised his hand to the sky, aimed it right at the projector, and pulled the trigger with a loud, final bang .

…..

The sun was just beginning to sparkle on the snow blanketing the streets. It was a lovely, gentle sunrise, painting pastel pinks, yellows, and oranges across the horizon, making the city seem less eerie. 

Radford sat on the bench outside the movie theater, his back against the chilly metal as he watched the ambulance pull away from the curb. Robbie was seated next to him, his head on one of Radford’s slumped shoulders. 

Jack stepped out of the theater, hanging up the phone as he did, and sat on the bench after clearing it of snow. “John’s going to be okay,” he said with a smile and a little glance at the silver ring glimmering on his finger. “Just got off the phone with Patty. She said you’re lucky you found him when you did. Same with Dexter.” He lowered his head and cleared his throat. “As for Streber…”

“I know,” Radford said, the words drifting away into the morning. A certain numbness settled in his bones since he shot the projector, causing the Box Cutter to fizzle into nothingness and Dexter's knife to tear up the carpet. Sure, Radford saved more people from getting hurt - Jack, real Orion (who said something about going on sabbatical), and most of all Robbie - but were the casualties worth the ego boost? It felt unfair that he got to live when everyone else who had helped him had to die. 

But at least he finally accepted that it wasn’t his fault. Maybe some of his decisions hadn’t been the brightest, and he should have recognized the Box Cutter motifs with all his horror knowledge. But just as he said about Mel, when someone’s life is flipped upside down and they’re living afraid that they’ll die the next step they take, of course they won’t think straight. Of course, their first urge is to protect themself and, more importantly (at least to Radford), the people they care about. 

He exhaled another foggy sigh into the crisp air as he closed his eyes, listening to the gentle coo of a mourning dove echoing through the city streets. For once, he didn't feel the need to say anything. Everything else he'd done had spoken louder.

“We better get you two off the street before you get hounded by reporters,” Jack said good-naturedly, tousling Robbie’s hair before standing back up and heading in the direction of the police car. Robbie slipped away from Radford’s side, climbing gratefully into the backseat. But Radford lingered for a little longer in the cold. 

Maybe he was a fool, but if what made him a fool was to love the people around him, he didn’t mind it. Besides, he ended up making a hell of a final girl. Maybe, when John was out of the hospital and Hope could come back home, she could braid his hair. 

He stood from the bench just as a bike skidded to a halt, causing a wave of slush to crash over Radford’s only remaining pair of shoes that hadn't been confiscated by the police. “Hey!” he snapped, glaring up at the bike rider who just so happened to be a certain candy store clerk on the way to work.

“Whoa,” Kevin chortled, giving Radford - and the smashed entryway of the theater - a once over. “And I thought my job sucked.”

"Yeah?" Radford raked his fingers through his curls as he approached the car, glad all he had to worry about for now were his wet shoes. “Don’t even get me started."

Chapter Text

Ah, 9 PM - closing time. The streets had long since grown dark yet the streets were abustle with people once more, noses red, gloved hands shoved in their empty pockets. Since the end of the murders, businesses were opening back up for their regular hours, Boys N’ Grills no less, which had enjoyed a nice, hearty (pun intended) dinner rush due to Black Friday shoppers flooding the place.

Bob Velseb surveyed the streets as he flicked off the neon ‘OPEN’ sign hanging in his window. The old radio buzzed out the dulcet sound of Johnny Cash’s voice, his music the perfect soundtrack to these smiling faces heading home after long days of work and play. It seemed the whole town was out there…

But there were two people absent from the fray, the two people he wanted most in the world to see. 

He remembered hearing the news that his child - Streber - was one of the final victims of the killer, remembered guilt making itself comfortable in his heart (just as it was now) as he went to his childhood home and took in the memorial shrines there. He’d never gotten to know Streber past the age of - what had it been, three? Four? - but from what it seemed there were plenty of other people who loved him. Especially that boy with the curly red hair, who Bob often caught kneeling in front of the shrine, the snow soaking into the knees of his jeans as he talked to his departed friend like he was still there.

Bob tried it once, but he was unsure what to talk about. He honestly didn’t think Streber would want to talk to him, nor could he blame him. 

Stepping away from the now-fogged window, Bob slipped off his cap and waved it at his face before locking the front door with a click. After all, Boys N’ Grills would be open again tomorrow and there’d be a whole slew of customers there for dinner. Maybe some of them would be lucky enough to become it, like the nice piece of meat he had in the kitchen right now. 

Now, Bob wasn’t typically one to pick up after other people’s leftovers like some sort of scavenger, but if there was a perfectly good body left uselessly on the streets, of course he was going to take it and put it in his freezer until he was ready. One good thing about the murders was the easy pickings, and though he’d laid low on butchering due to the heavy police presence in town, he was finally comfortable enough to start it all up again. 

This body was already headless, which made it easier to butcher for his purposes. That wasn’t to say he didn’t have the head - it would’ve been suspicious to take the body and not recover the head from atop the flagpole, which was no easy feat. In any case, he had it buried in a hole in his backyard. Maybe after it rotted, he could give it to that exterminator - they had an interest in taxidermy, after all, and he knew they wouldn’t ask any questions. 

Well, he chuckled, maybe they would, but only in good humor. 

He’d already skinned the body, hell it’d been mostly eviscerated thanks to the ‘Showbiz Killer’ or whatever they were calling him now. Some sort of horror fanatic copycat. Still, he went in and took everything else out, frowning when he realized the liver and heart were too ripped up to save. Oh well. Would have been nice, but there were always more bodies. 

As he worked, he hummed along to the radio, even danced a little in place, rocking side to side as he tossed what he didn’t need. A small part of him wondered that, if he and Streber had been close enough to be family, if he would have joined him in enjoying this unconventional delicacy that was a human being. He smiled sadly thinking about what could have been, and as he did, he failed to notice the back door opening, the figure swathed in shadow slipping through without a sound. He failed to notice the radio fading into static, only bits and pieces of the song smiling through. 

He failed to notice anything…

…until it was too late to.