OFF THE REELS

by nautilucence

Summary:

The aftermath of the Box Cutter killings has left the town - and Radford - scrambling to find stability again. Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem that will be happening any time soon as more bodies begin to turn up, killed in ways far more brutal than before.

Notes:

09/16/2024

okay, okay, i get it, i know i said i’d wait till october…but what can i say! late birthday present to myself. i can’t wait for you guys to read it.

fair warning: the tone of this one is going to be a little different ;)

-nyx

Chapter 1: SCENE ONE

It was summer in the middle of November, the eve of his birthday.

The insides of his eyelids shone red, the sun trying to pry them open because he was missing the splendor of this better world. So he opened them, the sun greeting him warmly. He exhaled, gazing around the rolling plains, feeling the wind's gentle caress against the grass and wildflowers that cradled him. It was as if Mother Nature herself was combing her fingers through his hair.

His thought process was interrupted by the sweet aroma of strawberries wafting through the air. While he wanted to get up to follow it, there was a strong urge from within to spend eternity lying still in this field, red curls entwined with the soft green grass that cushioned his head. It almost felt like something from a distant memory - so far away that he couldn't reach it. And he didn’t want to; something deep down warned him he wouldn’t like what he would find. 

There was a tug from the grass then, a sharp one that yanked him beneath the earth. Soil forced itself into his mouth, into his eyes - was he even wearing his glasses? - and it was all he could taste and smell and hear as he was buried upside down. His lungs screamed for air, though they could only fill uselessly with dirt until his back smacked hard against an otherwise comfortable cushion. 

He rolled over to see he was inside a coffin that…couldn’t have possibly been his. He wasn’t dead, was he? He couldn’t be dead. Yet, looking down, rivulets of blood flowed from his ripped-apart belly, a field of strawberries having taken residence inside, their vines curling about his ribs that had been carefully pried open. The tantalizing scent had been coming from himself the entire time, he realized as he admired the fruit, and it didn’t take long for the juice to smear his complexion. And then there was someone else, a shadow next to him in the dark, skewering a strawberry on each of their gnarled claws. Yet throughout all of this, he wasn’t scared - he wasn’t scared at all, in fact, and he wanted to see who it was so badly-

Unfortunately, before the silhouette could come into view, a knock awoke him. And as desperately as sleep tried to drag him back, he was back in his room, heat blasting into his face from the vent above his bed. 

It wasn’t June; it was November, and what a November it had been so far. His dry mouth and headache were direct consequences of this as he cursed his marijuana hangover, pressing his palms to his eyes so hard he thought he might make himself completely blind, no matter what glasses he put on. 

Maybe things would be better that way.

He fumbled on his nightstand for his new glasses; when he put them on, the first things he noticed were the strange scratches on his arms. They had already scabbed over, but they still stung and seemed deep. He made a mental note to trim his nails later that day, hopefully when he felt less hungover, as he stared at the ceiling, watching the vent blow. All the strange feelings from the dream faded as he returned to the reality that he probably wouldn't experience that sort of happiness in the real world again. And how could he? The white walls surrounding him stood stark bare. Torn horror posters stuck out of his wastebasket, and nothing but dirty clothes and a nice fat bag of rat kibble decorated the floor. And there was a lingering odor of unwashed sheets and weed, stuffy and sour, that grew worse whenever the heater turned on.

In short, Radford was a mess, and he couldn’t even try to find pleasure in the dream because it was already gone, whisked away by wakefulness. 

Speaking of what had awoken him, there came yet another knock on the door, and this time, it filled him with dread. Even though he’d smoked with the window open, it still smelled heavily of weed, and he knew Jack would rip him a new one if he was caught. But he calmed down a little when he heard his little cousin's voice behind the door. 

“Raaad?”

“Yeah, Hope?” He called back to her, surprised by how scratchy his voice sounded, as if he hadn't spoken in days. Then again, maybe he hadn't? The past week had been a blur.

The door swung open and smacked against the doorstop as Hope bounded inside, her pigtail braids swinging. Radford raised an eyebrow at the hairstyle; it was pretty early for her hair to be all done up. “Good morning, Rad!” she said, playing hopscotch over his dirty clothes before launching onto his bed. “What’re you doin’ laying around, silly?”

He glanced at the clock - it was about 10:30 am. Now that he was out of a job, he often didn’t get up till about noon, and he'd thought everyone in the house knew that. He sniffed and lifted his glasses to rub the sand out of his eyes. “Sleeping,” he grunted in response. 

“You’re so funny.” Hope giggled, sitting beside him, her legs folded ‘cross cross apples sauce’ as she called it. “You can’t sleep in today!”

“And why’s that?” he said, looking down at her with a smile. He couldn’t be too cranky with Hope around; she was such a sweetheart. “Did you want me to take you to the park today? Do a little sledding?” It had snowed again last night, so it was probably prime sledding weather, and it was high time he tried to have fun again. Before he could get too excited about that plan, Hope shook her head, grinning up at him like they were sharing a joke. So, not sledding, then, he guessed. “Well, you got me,” Radford shrugged, reaching out to play with her braids. “What’re you so smiley about?”

At that, Hope’s grin morphed into a dramatic pout as she stuck out her bottom lip. “Rad, it’s the twenty-fourth!”

Radford’s eyes flew wide. Right . Yesterday was Black Friday, so today was Robbie’s birthday . He cleared his throat and tried to cover up his fumble, not aiming to swear in front of his cousin today. “Haha, just messing with you,” he bit out, trying to make it sound as lighthearted as possible as he ruffled her curly bangs. “I'll be downstairs soon, don’t worry. I just need to feed the rats.”

“Could I watch?” Hope begged, clasping her palms together in front of her face in a pleading gesture. “Pleeease?”

Typically, Radford would say yes, but this morning, he was in too weird of a mood to feel comfortable letting her watch. So he shook his head with a weary smile and sent her off with a raspberry on the cheek. Just as usual, it made her burst into uncontrollable giggles. 

Once she left the room, his attention turned to the rat cage. He heard little squeaks and rustles from within, his heart sinking once more as his new pets peered at him with their small, curious faces. The evening after Radford ended the Box Cutter, Jack brought home a familiar rat cage left behind in...a certain someone's apartment and a bag of rat feed from one of the closets. So, now he had rats. And as glad as he was that they were okay, it still felt weird to Radford that the cops had gone through Streber’s apartment like that. He was a person who enjoyed his privacy, and even after his death, it felt wrong to intrude on that. 

Radford slipped out of bed and pulled on a plain shirt from the floor; it didn’t smell great, but it was something. Then, he walked over to the rat cage, opened it, and filled their dish with food, not bothering with the half-full water bottle. He gave the rats little scratches on their furry heads as they realized it was time to eat and bustled over. 

After a couple minutes of watching them, he scrubbed a hand down his face with a groan. They’d been regarding him with confusion over the past week; he was unsure whether to take it as an insult to his care or to the fact he wasn’t their owner. Either way, he was the best they had now, and he’d show them as much love as he could; he was even considering filling the empty space on his walls with rat care tips. But before he could do that, he needed to drag himself out of his room and celebrate his brother’s birthday, which - shit - he just remembered he didn’t have a present for.

Upon climbing downstairs, Radford was met with a warm and lively kitchen. Although Robbie wasn't there yet, Hope was busy coloring at the table while Jack danced to the dad rock station as he cooked at the stove. A quick glance revealed the chocolate chunks - not chips - in the pancake batter, which made Radford’s stomach grumble - and mouth drier . He grabbed a cup from the cabinet and made a beeline to the fridge to get some water, hoping to ease his dry mouth. 

“Wow, I thought you’d be more excited about the pancakes.” Jack waved his spatula accusingly in Radford’s direction. “You have a wild night or something?”

Radford froze in place - does he know? Of course he knows, he’s a cop! - before icy cold water spilled onto his hand from the dispenser. Startled, he pulled the cup away, the chill lingering as he cleared his throat and attempted to dry his hand. “Yeah, the rats and I threw a party,” he said wryly. As if essentially chain smoking could pass for a party. Granted, last night hadn't been terrible, even though his hangover was. It had been nice to look around the now-peaceful neighborhood, at the strays swarming around the neighbor’s house for warmth and food, at the snowflakes glistening like stars under the streetlights, even as he besmirched it with smoke. But he couldn't tell Jack about that part.

And Jack didn't press. His smile turned bittersweet, and he nodded as he returned to the skillet, flipping a pancake to the golden-brown side. “It seems like you’re doing a good job taking care of them.”

“Yeah, well.” Radford chugged the glass of water so he wouldn’t have to give a better response. He didn’t mean to be dismissive, but he hated how everyone kept looking at him. It was like people thought he was a victim, too, even though it’d only been the people around him that had died. They were the ones with their guts ripped out by a psycho killer, not him. As sad as he was, not him. 

He filled his glass again and joined Hope at the table as she danced around in her chair. Unlike usual, she wasn’t coloring in her coloring book and was instead drawing something freehand that vaguely looked like Robbie, with swirls of blonde hair, a green shirt, and a Gumby-esque stature. That must have been her gift to Robbie; it was cute and simple and way more than what Radford had for him. 

“So, when do we get to wake up Rob?” Hope asked after scribbling the mole in brown crayon on the drawing's cheek. 

Jack shrugged. “I figured we’d let him sleep in on his special day, and in the meantime, you two can work on your gifts.” He turned his attention to Radford, who was zoned out, sipping from his glass, not really paying attention. “You've got something for him too, right?”

“Huh?” Radford glanced up. “Yeah.” No, he didn't. He'd meant to go out and get Robbie something from the mall but balked, and all of a sudden, today was the day. And, of course, it had to be his thirteenth, his introduction to being a teenager. Radford tried to think of some stuff he might be able to dig out from the back of his closet. Weed gummies? No, he was too young for that. A hug would be lame. The only other option was clothes, which, at the rate Robbie was growing, would be too small for him in a heartbeat. 

“All right,” Jack replied, shooting him an odd look before turning off the stove. “Pancakes are done, so go ahead and dig in. I'll make another batch for when he wakes up. In the meantime, what does he usually have for his birthday dinner?”

Before Radford could open his mouth to answer, Hope threw down her crayons with a big grin, making stray marks on her paper. “PIZZA!” she yelled, shaking her fists in excitement, a stim she'd picked up from Radford and Robbie. “We always get a split-down-the-middle pizza. ‘Peroni and cheese!”

“‘Peroni’ and cheese, huh?” Jack snickered and served up the pancakes on three plates, one for him, one for Radford, and one for Hope. “Sounds like a plan.”

“Um, actually,” Radford cut in, pushing his hands into his hair and tugging nervously. “I don't know if getting pizza is a good idea. Y’know.” He was referencing the pizza ruse the Box Cutter had used; surely Robbie wouldn’t be able to eat pizza after that, right? If nothing else, Radford certainly couldn’t. His stomach was already churning as he thought about it. 

Jack let out a labored sigh, sitting down with his plate in John's usual seat. “Radford,” he chided, “let’s just ask your brother what he wants when he gets up, all right?”

Radford lowered his head, going back to his water, shoulders hunched as his grip tightened around the glass. He was just trying to protect his brother; what was wrong with that? “I want pizza,” Hope pouted next to him, though she picked up her fork and began eating her pancakes. Radford ignored his own plate, ignored the decadent aroma of warm chocolate and syrup, and, soon enough, stood and trudged to the front door, muttering an excuse about checking the mail. 

He felt Jack and Hope’s eyes on him, and tried to ignore that, too.

He wished they’d stop that.

Since it had gotten colder as the month went on, there were even more cats swarming the streets, trying to find someplace warm to stay. A few days ago, while trying to find something in the garage, Jack accidentally discovered a stray cat with kittens in a storage tub. That was all to say, Radford wasn’t too surprised when he came face-to-face with a black cat on the doorstep.

“Wrong house, buddy,” he said with a sigh, picking the cat up from the snowy porch and kissing it on the head. While he’d love to take in a stray, with the rats and John’s allergies, they couldn’t have one in the house, so whenever one showed up, he usually just took it to their next-door neighbor.

He made his way down the icy driveway, snow soaking the bottoms of his pajama pants, managing to avoid slipping before he made it to his neighbor's house. He knocked on the door, all the while holding the surprisingly docile cat under his arm. As he waited, he examined the creature. What a cutie - it had a triangular white patch on its chest and amber eyes and seemed just a little too old to be classified as a kitten. As he pondered why there were so many strays in this town, the door creaked open and revealed his elderly neighbor as well as her myriad of cats. The warm home was filled with their unmistakable scent, though there was an underlying fragrance of a fresh batch of cookies. 

“Hey, Miss Michelle,” Radford said, holding out the cat with an awkward grin. “Uh, we had another cat on our porch.”

Michelle smiled, her right eye sparkling as she adjusted her glasses and took in the sight of the cat. “Sweet thing,” she said, reaching out to take the cat and cradling it in her arms. Radford wasn’t sure if she was referring to him or the cat, but if he had to guess, it was both of them. “Thank you. But you can just call me Michelle, you know.”

“I know, I know.” Radford was too used to calling her ‘Miss Michelle’, though. She'd been his neighbor ever since he moved in with John four years ago, and while she mostly kept to herself in her little house, she wasn’t unkind to him whenever they did interact. According to her, she had a son slightly older than him, but he only visited on occasion because he was usually tied up with work. That was probably the reason she surrounded herself with so many pets. He flashed a smile at her and then glanced at the cat in her arms. “Take care of this guy, okay?”

“Oh, you know me. He'll be happy here. I can't believe people think black cats are bad luck when this one is such a sweetheart.” Michelle scratched the cat’s head, and he purred happily, closing his eyes and butting her hand with his head. “You better run on home now; the forecast says it’s supposed to start snowing again. And I think someone is having a birthday, right?”

Radford’s well-meaning smile grew forced. No way Michelle had remembered Robbie’s birthday when he barely had. “Uh-huh, Rob’s turning thirteen today.”

“The big one-three!” Michelle chortled, pushing her small, round glasses up her nose. “I remember when my son was that age. They’re delicate as much as they try not to be, so be careful with your brother.” She reached up and ruffled Radford’s hair with one wrinkly hand, balancing the cat with the other. “You wish him a happy birthday from me, all right?”

“All right, Miss- I mean, Michelle ,” he said, feeling a guilty twinge in his gut. “Have a good rest of your day.” 

She waved at him, lifted one of the cat’s little paws to wave at him, too, then closed the door with a click. 

He hesitated on the porch, gazing at the autumn wreath adorning Michelle's door before breathing out a deep sigh. Reluctantly, he turned back home, dragging his feet; that conversation had only proved he wasn't equipped to handle the birthday celebrations. As he approached his own house, though, the sound of Jack's car starting pierced the quiet morning, and the taillights made the snowy driveway bleed red. Radford's heart sank as he quickened his pace, reaching the car and rapping on the window. Jack rolled it down.

“Hey, Radford,” the deputy said, a strange expression on his face as his hands gripped the steering wheel, knuckles turning white.

Radford gave him a searching look; he was suited up for work, even though he'd taken the day off for Robbie's sake. Why was he going back on that? “Where’re you going?” Jack glanced away as if struggling to find the right words. “What is it?” Radford pressed, the air around him growing colder as a chill crawled up his neck. The longer he stood there, the more it felt like something was dead wrong.

Jack shut his eyes, his face draining of color as he pressed his forehead to the steering wheel and finally answered the question. “There's been another murder."

Radford's heart skipped a beat. So even after everything he'd worked for, everyone he'd fought for, it still hadn't been enough to bring peace to the town. “What does that mean?” he asked dumbly, his legs turning to jelly beneath him.

Jack looked up, his expression grim. “That you may not have stopped the Box Cutter after all.”

Chapter 2: SCENE TWO

Notes:

09-28-2024

sorry this took so long :( i wrote like half a chapter and then realized that wasn't at all what i wanted this chapter to be, so i scrapped it and had to rewrite it! i'm still not 100% a fan of this chapter, but i mean. i'm never a fan of more slice of lifey stuff (which i want to clarify that is NOT all this chapter is).

-nyx

"The small town of Los Ocultos has been rocked by yet another tragedy this week: owner of the popular restaurant Boys N' Grills, Bob Velseb, was found earlier this morning completely exsanguinated and eviscerated in the kitchen of the establishment. Stranger still, our sources report Velseb died surrounded by staged, frozen human bodies, some appearing to be victims of the Showbiz Killings weeks prior. Acting Sheriff Jack Hwangbo has declined to comment on whether he believes the two were working together-"

"It was only a week ago that Sheriff Hannigan's so- excuse me, nephew , Radford Hannigan, brought justice to the Showbiz Killer. Could he be a vigilante bringing further justice for the victims, or would he be a better acting sheriff for this town than an inexperienced deputy?-"

"Star of the Box Cutter series, Orion Scar, has reportedly gone on hiatus after co-star Katie Croft was murdered by the Showbiz Killer. But with the more sinister side to his hometown coming to light, will he really be safe staying in Los Ocultos?-" 

"Joseph Blow- Bloggs , that is, Carmen Vanido, Charlotte Grimstad, Katie Croft - every single one of them deserves justice for what happened to them. Too many times have serial killers been immortalized while their victims have been forgotten. Today, and every day, we must prioritize victims rather than the ones who killed them."

No matter what channel Radford turned to, everything was either a reminder of what had passed or a reminder of the present - and the ghastly reality that the two of them weren't as far apart as he tried to reassure himself. He switched off the TV, not bothering to try anything else, and stared into the black mirror of a screen. He looked… awful . He thought hearing that Bob Velseb was dead would at least bring a smile to his lips, especially after seeing that man have the nerve to show up at Streber's old home, at the shrine on the sidewalk. But it didn't; his mouth only resembled a chapped, wavy line pasted on a gaunt, tired face, and the only reason he recognized it as his own was because of the ugly mole below his right eye. 

"Uhhh, what's your brother doing?" a scratchy voice whispered from the other room, and soon, another reflection joined Radford in the TV, leaning over the back of the couch. 

"I dunno, he just does this now." Robbie met Radford's gaze in the dark depths of the screen before smiling gently and waving a hand in front of his face so he was forced to return to reality. "Hey Rad, did you pick a movie?"

Radford fiddled with the remote in his hand. "No," he said, throat dry. "There's nothing good on TV."

His brother's smile faltered, and he took the remote from him, setting it on one of the armrests. He jumped over the couch to plop beside him, but when Radford didn't scold him, Robbie's smile disappeared completely. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'll be fine," Radford lied, jerking his chin at the TV cabinet, where Hope was already crouched, searching through DVD cases herself. "It's your birthday, anyway. You should pick the movie."

"Okay…" Robbie stood and joined Hope by the cabinet, and they worked together to build a nice stack of movies. However, a flash of the Box Cutter on a discarded case made Radford's stomach churn, and he stood up, joining Robbie's friends in the kitchen, where they were frosting their cupcakes. Ross', which he was already eating, was baby blue, while Susie's was black and red. Rather than spread it with a knife, she was being pretty artsy, using the piping bags to her advantage. Meanwhile, Roy seemed like he was trying to copy her but wasn't doing so well. 

"How's it going in here?" Radford asked, raising an eyebrow at Ross. 

"She's holding her own," the teenager mused after swallowing his bite of cupcake. "Roy keeps trying to diss her cupcake because it looks better than his."

That was probably why Robbie left the room, then. Radford glanced at Roy, who was grumbling as he threw down the icing bag and shoved the cupcake into his mouth, smudging icing all over his hands and face. "I don't understand the point of decorating your own cupcake anyway," Roy said with his mouth full, licking off his face and fingers as he shoved past Susie and out of the room. 

"Watch it!" Susie snapped, pinkie finger grazing her work, and Roy stuck his tongue out in response. 

Radford sighed heavily; a grumpy Roy was the last thing this poor excuse of a party needed. At least it seemed like Robbie was having fun, and Ross and Susie were enjoying themselves. That was more than could be said for Radford, who just had to hear his dead friend's dead name being read in remembrance. Hell, had to hear that there was yet another murder, whether it was related to the Box Cutter or not. Maybe a tiny part of him was upset that he wasn't the one who had gotten to kill Bob, though he was mostly just upset that this was all happening again. It had barely been two weeks.

Not wanting to ruin his mood more, he pulled out the whirly-pop; if he couldn't be there for his brother, he could at least hide in the kitchen and make popcorn for them. 

"There, perfect," came Susie's voice from behind him, followed by the clatter of an icing bag being set down. 

Radford turned around as he poured some kernels into the popper, catching a glimpse of the finished product of Susie's cupcake. "Whoa," he said at the same time as Ross, halting his pouring. Before walking to the kitchen table, he put the cover on the soon-to-be popcorn. Susie held the dessert out for him and Ross to see. While the background consisted of red icing, a shadowy figure, complete with gnarly black pretzel stick claws, expertly decorated the top, scratching Radford's brain with an odd sense of deja vu. 

Ross and Susie continued to talk as he pondered where he'd seen that before. "That's so metal." The corners of Ross' lips turned up in a rare grin. "I knew you could draw, didn't know you were a cake decorator."

"I've made models and stuff, too; it's not too different." Susie set the cupcake down, crossing her arms in satisfaction as she looked it over. "I'm not really sure what it's supposed to be. It sort of popped into my head as I was working."

Unable to figure out what the figure reminded him of, Radford joined in. "It's really cool how you can do that." He chuckled. "I'm not the greatest at transferring my ideas to paper or…well, any other medium, for that matter."

"Robert's told me about your writing and short films," Susie said. She wiped her hands free of icing onto a paper towel, then reached behind her head to tighten her ponytail. "Isn't that the same thing?"

"No, I mean like…drawing. Crafting." Radford made a vague gesture at her cupcake. "You made that with only a plain cupcake, an icing bag, and pretzel sticks."

"It's not that good!" Susie laughed and waved the compliment away, though it was clear she appreciated it from how much she was smiling. 

Radford almost said something else until he heard the popper slowing down. He rushed back to the counter to turn it off so it didn't burn. He listened to Ross and Susie converse as he finished preparing the popcorn and poured it into six bowls; thankfully there was enough in case anybody wanted more. Right on cue, he heard the sounds of the TV in the next room. He handed Ross and Susie their bowls before heading to the living room and juggling the others, just in time to hear:

"Hey, Radford, isn't that your boyfriend?"

"Roy, shut up!" Robbie hissed out next, fumbling with the remote to switch the input, but it was too late.

The sight of Streber's picture, slapped unceremoniously on the screen, made his whole body tremble, and he nearly lost his grip on the bowls in his arms. Still, he couldn't make a scene, couldn't scream, couldn't cry. So, he handed out the remaining bowls of popcorn with a wobbly smile and sat down on the far end of the couch with his own, trying to ignore how his heart was pounding.

Soon, Ross and Susie joined them in the living room, Ross taking his usual seat on the floor in front of the coffee table, and as expected Robbie, then Roy, joined him down there. 

"What'd you guys pick?" Susie asked as the disc previews started to run. 

"Music of the Vampire." Robbie smiled at her over his shoulder. "It's one of my favorite Scooby Doo movies."  

Susie raised an eyebrow but shrugged, digging into her popcorn bowl. Radford followed suit, tossing a few pieces in his mouth, but they tasted stale on his tongue to the point he had to force himself to swallow. And that was how he decided he couldn't handle being downstairs anymore - try as he might, he wouldn't be able to distract his way out of his slump. As the previews continued to roll, he skulked up the stairs to his bedroom to Robbie's chagrin and cracked the door; he didn't want to close it just in case of an emergency. He crouched in front of the rat cage; it seemed they'd eaten all their food and were now snoozing together, their fat little bodies pressed close together in their hutch. Their noses twitched as he drew nearer, though, and both of their beady eyes blinked open at him. 

"Hey, guys," he said. His voice was gravelly and low, barely recognizable as he gave them a wry smile. "I didn't mean to interrupt your nap. Mind if I join you in here?"

As expected, the rats did nothing but go back to sleep, so he took that as a yes and trudged to his bed, falling forth once he reached it and closing his eyes. Surely, the party would be more fun without him being a drag. 

He snuggled into his sheets, opening one eye and glancing at the futon parallel to his bed. That was where Streber would often sleep, but more often than not they'd wake up with their bodies huddled together just like the rats, having fallen asleep in the middle of a long night of horror marathons. But whenever he tried to think about him in those memories, Streber's eyes were always open and glazed over, a gash ripped through his throat and bleeding all over the pillows and sheets in Radford's memories. 

He gagged, pressing his hand over his mouth so he didn't throw up, and pulled his phone out of his pocket to try and distract himself. Of course, right then, a text popped up from his little brother. 

Robbie: R u OK?

Well, that hadn't helped. Radford removed his glasses, the whole world becoming a blur, and he shoved his phone and glasses onto his nightstand. He covered his face with his blanket, hoping that the darkness would get him to sleep faster, and fell asleep thinking about how good everything would be if he didn't have to wake up later. 

The next time he opened his eyes, the sun hung above him - strangely, it seemed as though it was on a mobile, like the one above his crib when he was a baby. A sun, a moon, and three stars were suspended in the air with visible strings. Yet fat white clouds still drifted around them, lazily traveling across the sky. 

He rolled onto his stomach, coming face to face with familiar, soft grass, and pushed himself into a sitting position. His hair blew about in the breeze, stray curls smacking into his face much to his annoyance as he looked around. It was almost a perfect echo of his last dream, his memory of it slowly returning. There was nothing but grassy, rolling hills and sky as far as the eye could see, and while many wildflowers decorated the grass, there wasn't much else; no animals and certainly no other people. 

In the middle of surveying the land, he noticed a few blades of grass wrapping around his shoes, then between his fingers, squeezing in a way that felt… too familiar . He felt his heartbeat quicken, a blush coloring his cheeks, and yanked his hands away just in time for the grass around his shoes to drag him under the earth yet again; he learned from last time, squeezing his eyes shut, covering his nose and mouth with his hands. 

Then...silence. He opened his eyes to find himself back in his room, with everything exactly as he left it - his desk, the rat cage, his closet, the trashcan overflowing with posters, and the clothes littering the floor. But something felt off. He glanced at his now spotless, scratchless arms, then at himself in the mirror across the room - or he would have if he could have. The mirror was blank save for static. He quickly realized every reflective surface was the same: his windows, his laptop screen, and even the doorknobs only showed crackling static, so similar to-

His brain seemed to shut down when he tried to reminisce, and his attention was soon drawn to a smear of crimson marring the pure white of his closet door. He took a step towards the closet, and to his surprise, the door swung open all by itself.

There weren't many words Radford could use to describe the horror he discovered inside, but it wasn't something he would wish on anyone, not even Bob Velseb. And yet, he somehow knew what he was staring at, this thing was once that man, and was what his body now looked like in the morgue: ribs pried apart, lungs still shiny and wet with blood yanked out to lie across them like the wings of a long-fallen angel. Crowning his head was a halo of ripe strawberries, woven vines falling over his bloodshot eyes that screamed for help that wouldn't come. 

Now that Radford wanted to wake up, he couldn't; he could only stare as sharp claws crept over his shoulders, holding him captive as if dangling him above a pit of snakes. His chest grew heavy as though something was pressing on top of him, and he struggled to breathe, struggled to wake up as flickering flames took over his peripherals. And then they spread in front of him, engulfing the corpse, creeping towards his hands -

He jerked awake just to feel warm wetness on his hand and sat up, his fingers catching the edge of a bowl and spilling its contents all over his sheets. He noticed Roy’s silhouette scurrying out of the gloom, heard him taking two steps at a time to get back downstairs, and while he wasn't sure if he wanted to know what the kid had been trying to do, at least it had woken him up. He took deep gasps of breath through his working lungs that were still nestled in their proper spots, looking around at his room that was not on fire, reflective surfaces that weren't static.

His respite could only last for so long when he remembered that he could always wake up from a nightmare. 

But if the nightmare was real - which it very likely was - how could he wake up from that?

Notes:

09-28-2024

a reminder of some of the names, if you didn't recognize them from last time:
orion scar is my hc name for actor, while katie croft is my hc name for actress. charlotte is my hc deadname for streber. joseph/joe bloggs (joe blow lol) is my hc name for costume guy.

-nyx

Chapter 3: SCENE THREE

Notes:

10/3/2024

it's still october 3rd /ref
happy mean girls day everybody, enjoy the chapter :)

-nyx

 It was an oddly sunny drive for November, though the air outside the car was still frigid. The car itself was old, with a dodgy heater; it had been his mom’s at one point, and was meant to be Robbie’s in the future. Ever since his dad’s truck had been totaled, though, the blue minivan had been dusted off, tires had been aired, and Radford had to settle with it. Because there was no way he was trudging through miles of snow and ice to run errands. 

Especially with another killer on the loose, whether they attacked at night or not. 

Driving through town, he noticed people outside, hanging up Christmas lights and inflatable Santa Clauses outside their homes or in their trees. One household had seemingly candy-striped their trees with red and white garland, with icicle lights “dripping” from the gnarled branches. There was something to be said about how Los Ocultos, without fail, ushered in every holiday as soon as the last one was over, the candy corns in stores switched out for candy canes, the hangover of Halloween fading into weeks worth of Christmas Eves. This year, though, he wondered just how much the murders would stifle the celebrations; there had been plenty of Black Friday shoppers the other day according to Kevin, but almost no one on Saturday or Sunday after the news of Bob Velseb’s murder. 

Maybe it had been just a one-off thing, maybe someone other than him had a vendetta against Velseb and finally put a stop to his eerie chokehold on the town. Still, something about how intricate his death had been didn’t smell right, and Radford wouldn’t be surprised if there would be more murders. He hoped not, but…he wouldn’t be shocked, which was why he was being careful.

Radford pulled into the nearly empty grocery store parking lot and stepped out, having to maneuver himself since the minivan’s cabin was much shorter than he was used to. The store doors slid open, and he headed straight for the shopping carts. He grabbed one of the smaller ones and pushed it towards the produce section, all while enduring the obnoxious, jingling Christmas music. In Jack’s words, Radford needed to buy “something other than freezer meals and ramen”, especially since he wouldn’t be at home to cook as much. Hopefully, without many other customers in the store, he’d be able to get some good food without bug bites and bruises - and then he’d be able to get out of there. 

As he pushed his cart further into the store, he overheard voices a little ways down the cereal aisle. He glanced up from his half-full cart, and sure enough, two women - Ross’ mother, Jaune, and her friend Lila - were gossiping in front of the Fruit Loops. They both looked up at him as he approached, but didn’t stop talking, so he guessed he was in the clear. Jaune even smiled and waved at him, which made him duck his head and awkwardly waggle his fingers at her. 

“So you really think you saw someone in the theater?” Lila asked, examining the price of the Fruit Loops she plucked off the shelf before reaching for the generic brand instead.

Jaune leaned against the cart, and it bumped against the shelves as she threw up her arms. “Yeah! Like I said, Aaron was there too. Ask him if you don’t believe me.”

“I just don’t get why anyone would want to go in there after…” Lila paused and nodded at Radford, who realized he was staring directly at them instead of being stealthy with his eavesdropping. Wow , he was terrible at this. He shot her an awkward grin and turned around, scanning the shelves for Robbie’s favorite cereal as he listened in. “I heard Evermore’s planning on bulldozing the theater, though, so maybe it was a surveyor?”

“Didn’t look like one to me,” Jaune pouted. “Lila, I already told you what I saw!” 

“Yeah, yeah, a ‘ghost’.” That sent a chill up Radford’s spine - a ghost? Was that what he’d been seeing in his dreams then? Lila continued, “I’ve heard a lot of people saying they’ve ‘seen’ something at the murder sites, though. That’s what tragedy does, it makes people…see things. Mass hallucinations.”

There was a moment of silence before Jaune spoke up again, though she sounded much more somber. “I mean,” she said, “of course the murders were sad, but I didn’t even know the kid that died at the theater. I wasn’t really close enough to any of the victims to cause ‘hallucinations’ or whatever.”

Radford just grabbed a random cereal and tossed it on top of everything else in the cart, hurrying out of the aisle before he had to hear anything else about the victims. All that made him think about was Streber, and he couldn't deal with that again today.

Was it just mass hysteria though? he wondered as the cashier scanned his items. If what Lila was saying was true, then many people had seen these ‘ghosts’. While he hadn’t seen any ghosts , per se, he had seen the odd silhouette in his dreams many more times. And considering Susie’s cupcake the other day, maybe his weren’t the only dreams the silhouette was haunting. He wanted to go back and listen to what Jaune had to say, just in case she’d let anything slip about also having weird dreams, but he had to get back and start on dinner for Robbie and Hope soon, and before that he had to swing by the post office. So he paid for and grabbed his groceries, tossing them in the backseat before starting the car and driving off.

Minutes later, Radford pulled into the parking lot of the post office, and took a minute to wonder why John didn’t get his mail delivered directly to the house. A few times he mentioned something about “not wanting to risk people stealing sensitive documents”, but as far as Radford was concerned, stealing from a mailbox or porch was about as sensitive as one could get.

As soon as he opened the car door, the cold, which seemed to have gotten worse in the short time he was inside, hit him in the face like a wall, sending goosebumps up his arms. He climbed out and nearly slipped on an ice puddle, earning a chuckle from some bystanders. Fuming, he stomped - carefully - up to the post office, past the American flag that was at half-staff, and made it inside without much more trouble.

Rick, who had recently gotten a job there, was out from behind the counter. Hung on the wall near the counter was a bulletin board, which was usually covered in fliers for local businesses and missing posters. Radford stood to the side and watched as Rick ripped down a Boys N’ Grills brochure and added it to the stack of old posters, covering up the smiling photos of the missing persons. 

“Were all those people found in Boys N’ Grills?” he asked after a moment of watching.

“Yes.” Rick looked over his shoulder, slow as a sloth, and sighed with effort when his gaze landed on Radford. “Oh, of course it’s you.”

As the mailman turned back to the bulletin board, Radford was left wondering - and slightly offended - by what he meant by that. He pulled out the keys to his uncle’s P.O. box and went over to them, double checking the number on the carabiner before unlocking the correct one. “Been a lot going on lately,” he attempted to small talk as he pulled out the mail, trying to break the awkward silence. 

“I guess so.” There was a shuffle as Rick tossed the brochures and posters into the trash. “Why’re you talking to me?”

How blunt of him. Then again, it was Rick, so he wasn’t that surprised. Radford flipped through the mail, spotting some condolence letters from his extended family, then relocked the box. “‘Cause it’s quiet? And we haven’t talked since you picked me up from the hospital that time?” Which he still hadn’t paid him back for, whoops.

Rick heaved another long-suffering sigh, resuming his post behind the counter. “Did you have anything else to do here?”

“Yeah, gimme a sec.” Radford tucked the mail under his armpit and pulled out his wallet, searching for a five dollar bill. He always made it a point to pay people back for gas money, but with his concussion the last time they’d seen one another, that had not been the highest on his list of priorities. He heard the doorbell ring as someone else walked in, so he moved to the side so he wasn’t blocking the counter. 

“Hey, Popcorn Head!”

Radford froze. 

He hadn’t heard from Dexter since they’d gone to the hospital. Honestly, he’d been meaning to go check on them, but never found the right time or words to say. He looked them up and down. Their hair was more of a mess - and longer - than usual, and a five o’clock shadow covered their chin. Their right forearm was wrapped in gauze, though it was so thick it almost looked like a cast. And they did not look happy to see him, their smile poisoned with spite. 

“It’s been a while! How have you been?” Dexter asked, allowing the door to slam shut behind them as they sauntered over, hands on their hips. “I’ve been just dying to hear from you.”

Radford took a step back, forcing a shaky smile. Yeah, there’s no way they don’t know about Streber. “Um, I’ve been okay?” He managed to stutter, gesturing at their arm. “You?”

“Irreversible nerve damage, thanks for asking,” Dexter sneered, lifting their arm and waving it in front of his face, their hand flopping about in midair in a way that made Radford cringe. Then, they made a show of pushing past him to get to the counter, resuming their too-polite facade. “Excuse me, did my mom reroute a package here?”

Rick blinked at them. “ID,” he said, leaning bored against the counter. 

Radford breathed out shakily before digging through his wallet again, overhearing Dexter chatting with Rick, telling him how their mom had specifically rerouted a package here to give them something to do. And Rick got annoyed with Radford for talking…he didn’t yap nearly as much as Dexter! In any case, he finally withdrew a five dollar bill and slapped it on the counter, his neck hot and itchy as he felt Dexter's glare on him. “Here ya go,” he mumbled, just about to hurry out when Rick plopped the massive box on the counter - definitely something Dexter couldn’t lug home with one hand. No, no, don’t you dare, he screamed at himself right as he opened his mouth and asked, “Do you need help with that?” 

“No,” Dexter hissed in response. “Like your weak nerd arms would help me anyway.” 

Ugh , curse Radford’s parents for raising him to be helpful - he should have just left instead of dealing with this jerk. But he didn’t leave, and even tried again, attempting to keep his simmering annoyance out of his voice: “It’s okay to ask for help.”

“We’re not friends, and I don’t need your help.” Dexter’s eye twitched as they spoke through gritted teeth, their hand drifting to their left pocket. “So leave me alone, just like you did to-”

“That’s not fair!” Radford snapped before they could utter his fallen friend’s name. It’d hurt too much to hear and the guilt was already stifling. “You don’t even know what happened.”

Dexter was definitely raring to yell right back, but before they could, Rick cleared his throat, and the pair whipped around to look at him. “Look, I’ve had a long day.”

“Your shift just started,” Radford pointed out.

“Maybe.” Rick shrugged, then rolled his eyes as he gestured between the two of them. “Anyway, I don’t care who takes the package, just take this outside.”

“No, it’s okay,” Radford replied, falling back towards the door, away from Dexter and the weird glint in their eyes, the nonverbal threat of their hand near their pocket that he knew had a knife in it. He wanted to call their bluff, but at this point he couldn't be sure if it was one. “I have to get home.” 

With that, Radford shoved the door open and ran back to his car, the mail nearly blowing away in the chilly breeze that greeted him when he stepped outside. He bowed his head against the wind and shifted the letters to his right hand as he fidgeted with his keys in the other, unlocking the car manually.

He turned the keys in the ignition, and for just a moment the engine sputtered before starting regularly. One of these days, he’d be driving and it’d conk out, he was sure of it - but for now, he pulled the minivan out of the parking lot, away from the exterminator staring at him through the windows. 

But even that didn’t help him escape the guilt. And honestly, he wasn't sure if anything could.

Chapter 4: SCENE FOUR

Notes:

10/8/2024

reminder that this is the same thing like last time, there are hints to multiple ships in this fic. some of them may be overt while others are more just covert or are only there if you squint. i’m only going to tag them if they’re outright stated.

don’t ask about caramelcorn that will never be a thing.

also, i hc kevin and jaune to be siblings!

-nyx

“I can’t believe you dragged me into this on my one day off.”

That was about the umpteenth time Kevin said that within just fifteen minutes - and they hadn’t even reached their destination yet. Against his better judgment, Radford decided to look into the ‘theater ghost’ claims after overhearing more whispers about townspeople seeing things, particularly in that area. While he hoped he wouldn’t come across a ghost - or much of anything, for that matter - he didn’t want to go by himself. Hence why after learning Kevin was off, he asked him to come along. 

“Hey, you could’ve said no and you didn’t.” Radford parked the minivan a little ways down the street from the yawning mouth of the theater’s busted entrance. 

Kevin rolled his eyes and folded his arms as he glared out the window at the snowy street. “That’s because you wouldn’t shut up till I said yes,” he snarked, raising his voice to an obnoxious pitch. “You were all ‘please please please please please pl-’”

“All right, all right, I get it, I’m annoying.” Radford turned the car off and tried to ignore the hair standing on end at the back of his neck the longer he stared at the derelict theater. “Let’s just go inside and see if we see this thing. And if we don’t, you’ll feel the satisfaction of being right.”

“I dunno, I think I’d prefer money.” Kevin sat up in the seat and tugged his sweater sleeves back down from where they’d bunched up. “Like, my entire nightly paycheck would be perfect.”

Radford blinked at him, doing quick math in his head. That’d be what, about fifty dollars? “Kevin, we’re both poor.”

“Estás bien pendejo,” Kevin muttered, and since Radford failed Spanish in school, he had no clue at all what that meant. But from the expression on Kevin’s face, he wasn’t supposed to know. 

They climbed out of the car just in time for a white van to zoom past them, almost running over Radford, who’d stepped out into the street. “What the fuck?” he swore as he jumped back, his back pressed to the car door.

“It’s just Frank,” Kevin said, rolling his eyes as he watched the van careen down the road and around a corner. “If it’s any consolation, he wouldn’t run over you. He’s too greedy to wanna pay up if someone dies.”

“Uh huh.” Radford gave Kevin a side-eye as he processed the statement. “He’s a regular at your store though, yeah?” Kevin nodded, causing Radford’s smile to grow. “So how’s he pay you?”

Kevin cleared his throat and gestured at the theater, now seeming very excited to get inside if it kept him from having to talk about what he had implied. “Let’s just get this over with.”

Radford squinted at him for a long moment, trying not to laugh, before turning his attention back to the theater. It looked even worse than it had after the initial crash, and the possibility of a ghost in there made the dark entryway loom larger than it was. He tried to hold onto the humor of the situation as he looked both ways, then crossed the now-empty street, Kevin on his heels. 

The theater seemed frozen in time when he stepped in and shined his flashlight around the lobby. Snow had blown through the entryway and covered the geometric carpet pattern, replacing the roaches that had infested the place weeks prior. There was still popcorn in the popper, though it had long decayed to the point nothing wanted to touch it anymore. 

When the motion sensor lights didn’t turn on, he stepped gingerly over to the switch on the back wall, which should have at least illuminated the neon details of the concessions counter. After he flicked it, the lights buzzed, flickered, and soon the lobby was a little better lit. He turned off the flashlight and tucked it back in his pocket, glancing at Kevin who was hovering in the doorway.

“You coming?”

Kevin shrugged and walked further inside, though Radford noted quite a bit of hesitance in his gait. The worst part was that he couldn’t blame him, and felt pretty guilty for dragging him there. From what he heard, Kevin had to deal with plenty of weirdness at work - but it was too late now, so they may as well see this whole thing through. 

“So where’d my sister say she saw this thing again?” Kevin asked, glancing around the lobby. “You never mentioned her having to come in.”

That was true - Jaune, and everyone else, had said they’d just seen the apparition from the street. Still, if there was one, it probably stuck around the place. Maybe the only reason it was ever in the lobby was when it was trying to enter or leave, which was what he explained to Kevin. “Given the mythos of ghosts, though, if this is the ghost of the first victim, I think he’d be tied here. Typically they only haunt the areas they died in.”

“Oh, Joe Blow?” Kevin glanced around, as if the video game clerk would pop out at the sound of his almost-name. “Is this one of those things where you have to say their name three times?”

“Maybe, but his name’s Joe Bloggs,” Radford corrected, probably for the thousandth time since Joe’s death. “In any case, we shouldn’t just look in the lobby. He died in theater six, so…maybe we should start there?”

Kevin shrugged and continued to peer around at their surroundings. “Hey, I know next to nothing about this. I stayed out of that whole serial killer shit for a reason, ‘cause I didn’t want to get dragged into it like I so often am. So you lead the way.”

It was Radford’s turn to hesitate - did he truly want to revisit theater six, though? After the shot to the projector lens, Jack recovered the drive with the movie on it and took it to the station as evidence, but after finding nothing malicious on it, locked it up for good. Still, he didn’t know if he could face that projector again, whether it was ruined or not, whether it was empty of the Box Cutter or not. 

Even after all that deliberation, he still found his feet walking the familiar path to the theater as Kevin idly mumbled Joe’s name to himself. He was surprised the candy store clerk was tempting the fates as much as he was, given his paranoia, but the further he walked, the more he also felt like this whole ‘ghost’ thing was bullshit. There were homeless men that stayed in the alleyway near the theater, so it was probably just them - and good! It was cold out there, and if they needed shelter, may as well utilize an abandoned building with hundreds of nonperishables stocked up. 

He stared at the caution tape criss-crossing the doors of theater six once again, and without another word tore them down and tugged the door open to be met with…

Well, nothing. 

Just as he should’ve expected. 

“Here, maybe this’ll help,” Kevin said, sounding amused as he walked in behind Radford. It became much, much more clear that Kevin was just teasing him. Great. “Joe Bloggs, Joe Bloggs, Joe-”

There was a clatter from the projection booth that made him stop cold.

Radford ran to the front of the auditorium, near the bullet holes in the stage, and squinted at the shattered window to the booth to see a silhouette moving in the dark. His heart began to pound and he rushed back out to the hallway, just to smack into someone wearing a mustard yellow hazmat suit and a familiar mask that sent more chills down Radford’s spine than anything else had. 

Of course, it was none other than Dexter fucking Erotoph, ugh. 

They pulled the gas mask off and squinted at him through the dark, a large - and growing - frown on their face. “Popcorn Head?” they said, incredulous, pulling their glasses out of their pocket and putting them on. “Ugh.”

Right back at you, Radford wanted to say; as usual, though, he held back both his insults and his apologies. “What are you doing here?”

Dexter snorted. “Don’t act like you have no business here, either,” they replied easily as they placed their hands on their hips. “I’m not the one who ignored the caution tape, for once. So what’re you and that…candy-coated boytoy doing here?”

“Yeah, I’m sure you’d love if he was your boytoy,” Radford couldn’t help but mutter, right as Kevin stepped out behind him and cleared his throat. It didn’t seem like Dexter had heard, but unfortunately Kevin had. 

“I’m sorry, if who was what?” Kevin glared between Radford and Dexter. “Why’d you just leave me in there, Radford?”

Radford swallowed the rest of his insults, trying not to be too petty towards Dexter, especially in front of other people. “Sorry, I was just talking to my friend here.” Dexter scoffed at the word ‘friend’, and Radford talked over them. “They’ve probably exterminated CandyClub a few times, right?”

“Ohhh, yeah,” Kevin replied, fiddling with his sleeves again as he addressed the exterminator. “Dexter, right? It’s been a while.” He then turned back to Radford. “So, since there’s obviously not a ghost here, can we go? I have an early shift tomorrow and I need to sleep a bit.”

Radford locked eyes with Dexter, who seemed to be unwavering in their effort to make him uncomfortable. But even with the anger oh-so-heavily shielding the guilt he held inside, he stood his ground and crossed his arms. “I was just asking Dexter about why they’re here.”

Dexter’s mouth quirked upwards in an odd sort of sneer. “Same as you. Looking for ghosts.” The glint in their eyes told him that that wasn’t necessarily true, but Radford would take any answer over none. He turned back to the auditorium doors, hoping to poke around a bit more, but before he and Kevin could leave Dexter in the hall, they opened their big mouth again. “Your friend’s right, though. You should get out of here, ‘cause I’ve already seen a ghost. And it’s mad at you, Radford.”

He knew they just said it to bother him. He knew it. But he still couldn’t help the goosebumps travelling up his arms, up his neck and down his spine - especially when he realized they used his proper name for once. He kicked the caution tape that had fluttered to the floor out of the way and walked back through the door, holding it for Kevin as Dexter’s tittering echoed in the hallway. 

“What was that all about?” Kevin asked, lowering his voice so that hopefully Dexter wouldn’t hear even if they had gone back to the projection booth. Or at least, that was what Radford figured. 

Radford sucked in a shaky breath and sat down in one of the front row seats. “Well, y’know how Streber…” He trailed off, not even wanting to say it. 

“Oh.” Kevin’s demeanor softened, and he joined Radford, slouching forward after he sat down. “Were Dexter and Streber close?”

Radford hated to admit it, but: “Yeah, they were. And I didn’t tell- no, I lied to Dexter about what happened. I don’t know why, I think they think it was to hurt them or be malicious or something, but it was just that…” He stared at his mismatched Converse, red and blue and shiny new. They’d been a consolation gift from Jack, the first new shoes he’d had in a while, but he couldn’t even be happy about them. “I didn’t even want to admit to myself that he was dead. And I mean, I didn’t see him die, so I wasn’t even sure, but I still had plenty of time to say something after the cops and stuff found the body. And I just…didn’t.”

“Oh.” Kevin winced. “So they asked if he was okay, and you lied to them that he was?”

Radford pursed his lips, still staring at his shoes as he knocked the toes together to regulate himself. “Kind of.” He didn’t want to admit that he’d also gone off of what Streber had written about Dexter in his notebook, in case Dexter could hear them. 

Kevin seemed to mull the information over for a moment, before sighing and offering Radford a little smile. “You know, you were always a little overprotective over Streber,” he said, tilting his head to the side. “Even with me, when I had that crush on him in high school. Or when he dated Ethan, or…anyone, for that matter.” 

Radford didn’t really like where this was going, or, moreso, didn’t like the way it made him feel. “What’s your point?”

“I’m just saying, I mean, have you ever wondered why that is?” Kevin shrugged, still giving Radford that rare, understanding smile. Radford knew he should feel honored, especially given how pissed Kevin had been at him before, but right now he was beginning to feel even more guilt and unwanted feelings welling up inside. “Or, like, why you’re looking for ghosts or weird reasons to explain all of this stuff?”

Radford’s throat tightened, his shoes knocking together faster. “No.”

But he remembered. He remembered how he’d been after his parents went missing, how that had been the turning point in his horror interest turning into more of an obsession. He’d started looking into cryptids, urban legends, creepypastas, and most of all horror movies to try and explain why they’d gone missing. It became its own monster, no longer just an eerie sort of comfort but a form of escapism. A way he could find his way back to a world his parents were still in, and he didn’t have to live with his grumpy, nicotine addicted uncle. And god had that made John worse than ever, yelling at Radford for trying to explain his brother and sister-in-law’s disappearance with something that wasn’t and never would be real. Eventually, with John being so hard on him, his horror interest grew more casual again. But now…he was doing it again, wasn’t he? Going back to his roots. Back to where he came from. 

It was then that he noticed he was full-on sobbing, tears running like rivers down his cheeks, dripping off his chin. Kevin watched him carefully, a look on his face like he hadn’t meant to upset Radford that bad. 

“I don’t mean to do this,” Radford stuttered out between sobs, taking off his glasses and setting them in his lap as he covered his face with his hands. 

Kevin let out a soft sigh and soon enough, Radford felt his arms surrounding him. “I don’t know if anyone does.” He patted Radford’s back stiffly, but Radford couldn’t blame him for feeling awkward. “Look, you don’t have to beat yourself up, dude. But I think it’s better to let yourself feel the way you do than try and project onto something else.” He pulled back from the hug much sooner than Radford would have liked. “It’s going to be okay. Now get up, lemme drive you home.”

Kevin helped pull Radford up from the seat and took the car keys off his belt loop. Then, they exited the auditorium and the theater itself, leaving the neon lights of the lobby flickering behind them. As Radford walked, his legs shaking, he noticed the homeless men were now camping out in the corner, sharing two different flavored bags of chips and some booze. He gave the pair a wave, and they waved back before returning to their dinner. There was no sign of Dexter, though; not in the hallway, nor in the lobby. That was too bad, because Radford had almost felt like apologizing. 

He settled into the comfortable passenger’s seat of his mom’s car. Maybe it was an old car, but the seats were still plush and cozy and there was a lingering scent of her perfume in them, somehow. It brought him more comfort than Kevin had, and he almost smiled as the latter rolled away from the curb and started driving back home. 

And then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw it. A dark silhouette, strolling down the street, taking care to stay in the shadows and avoid the streetlights. He turned his head just in time for whoever it was to disappear into an alley. 

So maybe there hadn’t been ghosts. Maybe it had been people wandering in and out of the abandoned building. Maybe he and everyone else had been jumping to conclusions out of grief. 

But there was no denying that there was still something going on around town. And he was determined, now more than ever, to find out what. 

Chapter 5: SCENE FIVE

Notes:

10/15/2024

so i scrapped half of this chapter only to realize that it fits better in the next chapter so basically uhhh the next chapter will be ready soon. also if you're concerned over the lack of death you'll get your wish soon don't worry

-nyx

 It wasn’t often that Radford read books these days, and yet that was what was covering his floor now. Not clothes, not ripped-up posters, but library books for the first time since he graduated high school. 

And of course, now that he wanted to read, there was no end to the distractions. Kevin trying to drag him to a bar to drink souped up mocktails. Robbie needing help with his writing homework just to make sure all the letters looked right. Dinner having to be cooked and cleaned up after. Usually he’d be okay with those responsibilities or lack thereof, but he couldn’t stop studying up on dreams. Because if Kevin was right that the problems had been coming from the inside rather than some unseen force, he wanted to figure out how to stop them. 

But he had some other books, some ‘just in case’ books that were there, well, just in case he’d been right the whole time. That what he’d seen out on the street the other night was the true killer of Bob Velseb and wasn’t a silhouette of a random person heading home from work. 

Of course, now he’d never know because there was a knock at the door, and because Hope was napping and Robbie was at school, he tripped over himself and his stacks of books to get downstairs and answer it. 

Nowadays he was much more careful about answering the door, only opening it for people he recognized. As he peered through the peephole, though, not only did he not recognize the person there but he had no clue what they could be doing there. The only word he could use to describe them was by occupation: clearly a priest, regaled in a black cassock with a golden crucifix around their neck and a brown satchel over their shoulder.

After a few moments of staring through the peephole, right before the priest was about to turn around and leave, Radford opened the door, letting a gust of chilly air into the house. “Hello?” he asked, teeth chattering, instantly regretting his decision. He was only wearing a tank top and capri pants because the heating vent in his room made it so hot, and with his door closed he was baking in there. And for once, not just because he'd been smoking. He knew he smelled of weed and hoped the scent didn't travel in the cold air.

“Ah, hello!” The priest greeted him with a polite smile as they stepped back up to the door. “My name is Father Gregor.” 

“Hi.” Radford tilted his head at Gregor, then looked around the driveway in case this was a hidden camera prank. He had never seen anything resembling a priest in this town, given there were no churches. Seeing no cameras, though, he supposed this guy must have been legit. “Uh, I mean, like, no offense, but why are you here?”

“I’ve heard that quite a lot today,” Gregor said, his smile growing uneasy as he adjusted the satchel he wore. “To tell the truth, I have been thinking of starting a congregation in this town ever since I heard tell of the recent tragedies. Only a few households I have visited told me they go to church or consider themselves religious but must leave town to attend.”

Radford could believe that. The closest church was about thirty minutes away - that was the one Ross and his family attended, and Kevin used to. He wondered if the Father had come from there. “Well, sorry to tell ya, but…my family isn’t Catholic either. The whole ‘Irish Catholic’ gene kinda died out when my parents grew up n' stopped practicing.”

To his surprise, Gregor didn’t seem offended, that warm smile still on his face. “And that’s quite all right. I don’t believe that people need to be of a certain religion to be virtuous; rather, bringing religion to this town may bring hope in these times of need.”

So it was more about giving people hope than trying to convert them? Radford could respect that. And it seemed Gregor meant it, instead of just being a way to lure him in. “Nice.” He stood awkward and red-eyed in the door frame, ready to get the conversation over with so he could warm up under some blankets - then he noticed Gregor shivering just as much in his religious garb. As much as he was trying to cover it up, walking from house to house was clearly making him cold. “Do you wanna come in? Warm up?”

“Oh, no, sir. Thank you for your charity, but I only came to discuss your interest in the church. I don’t want to impose.” Gregor held out a pale, bony hand for Radford to shake goodbye.

But he declined, instead stepping back and opening the door wider for Gregor to enter. “No, man, come inside. Are you kidding? It’s freezing.” Not to mention, Radford didn’t want to be saddled with guilt if someone found this guy on the side of the road, frozen stiff. He already had enough on his conscience.

Gregor pursed his lips, then ducked his head, entering the house with quiet steps. He regarded the interior with a peculiar look as his teeth chattered ever so slightly. “You live on your own?”

Radford could only wish. “Oh, no,” he laughed, flopping on the worn couch. Gregor hovered near the closed front door and Radford raised an eyebrow before gesturing for him to sit down. “I live with my family. My brother’s at school, my sister’s upstairs taking a nap.”

Gregor joined Radford on the couch, sitting on the very edge of the cushion like he wasn’t the most comfortable there. Probably because, now that he was inside, he could smell the odor of marijuana that lingered on Radford. “And you mentioned your parents?” 

There was a quiet pause where Radford struggled to find the least awkward way to put the situation with his parents. “Uh, I live with my uncle,” he chose to say, “and he’s in the hospital. Work-related situation.”

“Work-related?” Gregor asked, tilting his head in what seemed like concern. “What does he do for a living?”

“He’s the sheriff, and his only friend is now ‘acting sheriff’, so I’ve kinda just been taking care of my siblings myself.” Radford tugged at a loose thread on the corner of his shirt.

“Oh, goodness.” Gregor placed a hand over his heart, like that would fix something. “So you must be Mr. Hannigan?”

Radford hated when people called him Mr. Hannigan. It made him sound so old . It made him sound like John, who he was nothing like. “You can just call me Radford,” he said, trying not to grimace. 

“All right, then, Radford,” Gregor corrected himself, scooting back further in the seat. “You were the one who stopped the murders?”

“It wasn’t just me,” Radford replied. It had been a combined effort - and even then, it wasn’t like he had been the brains by the operation at all. That was Streber, that was - as much as he hated to say it - Dexter. “But I helped.”

Gregor pondered for a moment before speaking again. “You’re quite humble. Much of the town believes you’re a hero," he said. "Most would boast about it, champion themselves."

“I don’t feel right about doing that, though,” Radford explained - not that it was right to do in the first place, of course. “It took me until so many had died to finally end it.”

“I see.” The priest nodded in understanding. “I hope you aren’t letting it fester.”

Radford hated to disappoint Gregor, but he was letting it fester and then some. He gazed down at his chipped nails and bloody cuticles, felt the warm heater graze the bald patches hidden beneath his frizzy hair. Not only was the state of his room, his body, his poor excuse of a mind a direct consequence of his guilt, but so was everything else. 

“I’m not,” he croaked, mouth dry. 

Gregor looked at him like he didn’t believe him, which he shouldn’t because Radford was spewing bullshit. But the priest didn’t say that, just offered him an assuring smile. “I can tell you’re not as sinful as you believe yourself to be, Mr. Radford.” He reached into his satchel and withdrew a pamphlet and a small bottle, which he held out to Radford with wrinkled hands. “Again, I don’t mean to overstep my bounds. But if you need to confide in anyone about this, the Lord is there to listen.”

Radford glanced at the pamphlet, which appeared to be an interest survey passed around at church services. Back when John wasn't as busy working and still dragged the family to church most Sundays, Radford ended up with a lot of those piled up in his room. Still, he asked, “What’s this for?”

“You don’t have to fill it out,” Gregor said, buttoning his satchel once more. “But if you ever were interested in restoring your faith, whether that be in God or yourself, you may contact me. Or, even if you would just like to talk with someone.” He nodded at the bottle. “And I am sure you have heard of holy water.”

Radford turned the bottle over in his hand, revealing a cross emblazoned on the glass. “Uh, yeah?”

Gregor closed his eyes and seemed to hesitate in preparation for what he said next. “I mean no offense, but I fear there may still be evil lurking in the shadows of this town, especially learning what happened to Mr. Velseb and his own shady dealings.” He bowed his head, gazing at his lap. “To be frank, that is another reason I would like to open a church here. To not only give the townspeople hope, but to purge this evil, as it seems to run deep. Like a blight in what should be a garden.”

Glad he wasn’t the only one, Radford set the bottle on the coffee table, peering at the shiny, golden label. “So this…”

“Is to ward off evil,” Gregor finished for him. “It should be just enough to carry it about. But if you must, you can uncork it and splash it on what ails you - only a small amount is needed.” He pushed himself off the couch, hands on his knees, his old bones creaking as he did so. “Thank you for inviting me in, but I’m afraid I must get on before nightfall.”

Radford also stood and opened the door for the priest, just to be met with Dexter, whose good hand hovered inches from the door as though they’d been about to knock. Their lip curled in the beginnings of a sneer, then their gaze shifted to behind Radford. And for one of the first times since he met them, they looked caught off guard. 

“Father?” they stuttered, falling back from the door, their hand dropping back to their side. 

Radford turned to Gregor, who looked equally taken aback. “Oh, hello,” he said, blinking at them. “You’re Michelle’s son, aren’t you?”

Michelle? As in, Michelle next door? No way could Dexter be related to that angel. But as Radford thought about it more, he could see the resemblance. They shared a bump on the bridges of their noses, similar-shaped almond eyes, and the same sandy brown complexion. Yet another reason for Radford to feel stupid, great. 

“Child,” Dexter corrected, playing with the gauze around their wrist, and it was then, when he looked downward, that Radford noticed the covered plate of cookies set on the stoop. The plastic wrap was steamed up, so they must have been fresh. “And yes, that’s me. I’m sorry I haven’t been to Mass in a few weeks, Father.”

Gregor’s shoulders bounced with a rare chuckle. “That’s quite all right.” He stepped onto the porch, avoiding the plate, and gave both Radford, then Dexter, a meaningful look. “Anytime you choose to return, I know the congregation will welcome you with open arms.”

It was impossible to miss how Dexter’s spine straightened, how their fingers yanked harder at the gauze. Radford’s gaze trailed up from their hands to their arms that were covered in just as many scratches as his own were by now.

“Yeah.” They knelt down, picking up the plate of cookies and almost throwing it like a frisbee into Radford’s hands. They then chased the priest down the steps, almost tripping, seeming ready to leave. “Why don’t you come over? I’m sure my mom would love to see you.” 

Their conversation grew muffled as they descended the driveway together, and Radford looked down at the plate in his hands, shocked that Dexter would bring these over whether it had been because their mother asked or not. The strangest part was that nothing seemed wrong with them; they were regular cookies. Just plain, chocolate chip cookies. And he didn’t know how to feel. 

Nor did he know how to feel about the pamphlet that laid empty on the coffee table, nor the holy water. It was one thing to say it - or even God - could protect against demons, but from evil itself? If a drop of sanctified water had been able to solve every problem, purify every instance of turmoil, then why wasn’t the world perfect? Why weren’t his parents here, why had the Box Cutter been allowed to destroy his life? 

If he was such a hero, why was the town still so villainous?

It hadn't been as clear to him before, but Gregor was right. Not much good had come from this town, and what good there once was had been ripped away, exposing it for its ugliness.

He pulled out his phone to find a minutes-old message from Kevin, right as he'd been about to go up to his room and continue to smoke the evening away as he read books that probably wouldn't even matter in the end.

Kevs: dreamy draught 2nite? rick will be there

It was rare for Kevin to be the one trying to drag him places. Usually, he and Streber would have to bribe him out of his shell and the fact their situations were now reversed was more depressing than ever. Either way, Radford glanced up the stairs toward Hope’s room, classical music playing over her CD player like usual. He then checked the clock. 3:12. Robbie would be home in a few minutes. Maybe he could trust him with babysitting, at least for tonight, at least if he started dinner for them.

Radford: sure. 

Chapter 6: SCENE SIX

Notes:

10/17/2024

fear is turning my stomach. please don't kill me for what i have done...it comes with the genre man...if you don't like this type of shit don't read it...yada yada yada...needless drivel because you guys are reading a horror story with a character death tag...

-nyx

The Dreamy Draught was a small bar on the edge of town that, despite the cutesy name, tended to serve crooked clientele. Derelicts and criminals hung about and conversed in the shadowed corners while underage patrons hung near the counter, attempting to order alcohol without getting carded. Of course, the bartender didn’t take any shit after serving criminals so often. Radford had once been on the receiving end of one of their revenge mocktails back in high school. Sometimes he could still taste it.

He slid into an empty stool, soon joined by Kevin, who sat to his left, squeezing himself between him and Rick. Due to the sheer volume of people seated around them at the counter, there wasn’t much space; all the stools were packed close together, and some were mismatched. They’d probably had to take out more stools to account for everyone. 

The more Radford tried to get his bearings, the more faces grew familiar. There was Frank, who’d almost run over him the other day, tall pint of beer in hand as he conversed with Rick - or more like talked at Rick, who didn’t seem to be paying attention. Meanwhile, there were a few others he recognized, such as the mayor and his legal assistant tucked in a corner, paperwork spread across the table as they sipped from what looked like margaritas. It wasn’t rare for Evermore to be there, considering this was also an artist’s hangout and he loved to harass - or, in his proud, gilded words, “commission” - artists to immortalize him in their work. Not to mention he likely rubbed elbows with shady types, being a politician and all. 

From next to him, he could just barely overhear Kevin ordering a mocktail, also tacking on another glass of rum for Rick. Rick was the only exception out of the three of them when it came to getting carded; he had so many frown lines and eye bags at twenty that everyone always mistook him as being in his forties. Radford squinted at the menu board. Despite how packed it was, and despite how he wasn’t feeling it, he couldn’t pass up a good mocktail. 

“What’re you gonna get?” Kevin asked over the din, leaning in a little closer so Radford could hear. 

“Probably a Strawberry Fields Whatever.” That was Radford’s go-to, both for the Beatles reference and for the blend of strawberry, lime, and pomegranate. The ‘whatever’ part of the name used to be because they would change up the other elements, but people asked for the pomegranate version so much that they made it that way every time now. 

Right as he was about to call the bartender over, though, the person to his right, a stranger with a buzz cut he didn’t quite recognize, ordered a drink instead. Something about their voice sounded very familiar, even though they didn’t look it, and he did a double take. 

“Wait, Orion?” he whispered, and they perked up at the name and whipped their head to look at him. Sure enough, it was the star of the Box Cutter series, and of many of Radford’s favorite movies, though his once long, wavy strawberry blonde hair was buzzed. “I thought it was you!”

Orion offered a sheepish smile. “Glad you’re the only one,” he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. As Radford scrutinized the star further, he noticed the deep brown contacts hiding his natural eye color; definitely another part of his disguise. Was he really being harassed that much by the media? “It’s been a while since I’ve been able to leave the house, but I’ve been going stir crazy.”

Radford set his chin in his hand, at this point completely forgetting about his drink. Now that he was (hopefully) not in immediate danger, he was glad to catch up with the actor. “Crazy enough to shave your hair?”

“Maybe.” Orion gave him one of his dazzling, movie star smiles, then directed it towards the grizzled bartender once they handed him his drink. “Anywho,” Orion continued, stirring his cocktail, “even with the paparazzi sniffing around for me like dogs, I’m glad my life isn’t being threatened by a doppelganger anymore.” And Radford was sure that was true about the doppelganger thing - but as for the ‘life being threatened’ thing, he didn’t want to say for certain that it wasn’t. And unfortunately, it seemed Orion noticed the hesitation. The stirring came to a pause, and his smile faltered. “I mean, it isn’t, right?”

Radford wasn’t sure how to break the news, so he just went for it. “Um…well, I’m not sure.” He cleared his throat. “There’s a possibility that there’s another killer, either a projection or just another person.”

“Oh.” Realization dawned on Orion’s face, and he dropped his straw. The ice cubes continued to tinkle against the glass, casting kaleidoscopic reflections on the weathered countertop. “Because Bob was found dead, too, right?”

“You know Bob?” asked Radford, raising an eyebrow. 

“I used to go to Boys N’ Grills a lot when I was younger,” Orion explained with a shrug. “I was even there a few days before he got murdered. I missed the place. Kinda not so much anymore, though, since it turns out he was also a freak.” He shook his head, a bittersweet smile creasing his lips. “What’s up with this town?”

“No wonder everyone’s surprised you’re staying here. It’s a shithole.” Radford let out a long sigh, glancing around at all the patrons, including Kevin and Rick, who seemed just as overstimulated as he was. It was no wonder, given that more and more people seemed to be pouring in from the cold. He saw Kevin duck down when Ignacio, a grumpy neighbor from down Radford’s street, walked through the door. The one time Kevin managed to acquire alcohol there a few months back, he ended up drunkenly flirting with the older man. That had been pretty embarrassing and was the subject of many jokes. 

“Well, it’s home.” Orion followed Radford’s gaze, then went back to nursing his drink. “Fucked up as it is, I can’t forget this place. Its weird happenings are part of why I got so involved in horror, and it introduced me to Katie.”

It was sort of hard to see in the dark, but Radford swore he could see a blush on Orion’s face. It wasn’t too much of a surprise to him that there was something going on there, since they had been costars from their teens well into their twenties, but still. It reminded Radford of what Kevin said the other day about Streber, but he shook the thoughts from his head before he could get choked up. “You miss her a lot, don’t you?” he asked instead. 

Orion shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Well,” he muttered after a long pause, “lot of good that does now. And if there is another killer, I might be joining her soon.”

Then it was Radford’s turn to say nothing; there wasn’t much reassurance he could give and he figured the conversation might as well be over. So he finally waved the bartender over, ordered the mocktail that he wasn’t sure he’d be able to drink with how his stomach was starting to go, and stared at the scratches and water damage on the counter. 

“Hey, Radford.” Kevin’s slender, bony elbow jabbed Radford in the side, rousing him from his thoughts. He glanced up with a little hum that Kevin probably couldn’t hear. “Do you have any song requests? I’m kinda tired of the Christmas music and I doubt anyone here wants to listen to Radiohead.”

There was music playing? “Yeah, anyone except you,” Radford teased, and Kevin just rolled his eyes. “Anyways, nobody would be able to hear anything. It’s too loud.”

“Look, I’m just trying to cheer you up, man.” Kevin picked up his mocktail and swirled it around in his hand the same way Radford’s stomach was starting to. “You like music, and you always try to help me cheer up, so it’s time for me to pay it forward.”

Still waiting for the drink, Radford picked at a scab in his hairline from when he’d pulled his hair too hard. “You don’t have to pay it forward.” He glanced around the room again, everything becoming a blur. “Uh, look, man,” he said, beginning to slip out of his chair. “This was a bad idea. I’m gonna go home. Can Rick drive you back, too?”

“Rick already ditched,” Kevin said, pointing over his shoulder at the now empty stool between him and Frank. 

Radford hadn’t even noticed his sort-of friend leave. But that was exactly the problem: it was too loud, too packed, too much and too fast. He felt ridiculous for thinking he could be around so many people so soon. On the other hand, he didn’t want his friend walking around in the cold by himself, especially with that shadow lurking around. “Why not get a ride from Frank, then?” 

Kevin’s eyes went wide and he shook his head rapidly. “I’m not-!” he began to yell, before glancing over his shoulder at the aforementioned man and lowering his voice. “I’m not getting a ride from Frank . I’m not leaving, and I don’t think you should either.” He took a deep breath, his dark eyes meeting Radford’s. “I mean, I don’t wanna force you to stay. I’m not trying to force you. But I didn’t see you at all while all that was happening before, and…I guess I feel bad.”

Not once had Radford been that angry at Kevin for distancing himself - if the murders hadn’t involved people he cared about, he wouldn’t have touched the situation with a nine foot pole. Or at least, that’s what he kept telling himself. “Dude, that’s why you’ve been pestering me so much to come here?” Radford couldn’t help but laugh at the situation. “You’re my friend. You didn’t have to take me out somewhere, we could’ve just hung out.”

“I didn’t think I’d be fun enough,” Kevin mumbled.

“So you took me here?” Radford snorted, gesturing around at the crowded interior, and Kevin shrugged, sinking a little further in his seat. “Look, let’s just get out of here, play some video games at my place or something. I left my brother home alone and for all I know he’s set the place on fire.”

Kevin seemed to consider it for a moment before sliding out of his chair as well. He pulled out the money they both owed - aw, man , Radford was gonna miss that mocktail - and slapped it on the counter. “All right…if you’re sure.”

Radford turned to Orion, who still seemed somber, and offered him a little smile. “Hey, uh…I ordered a mocktail, but you can have it if they still bring it out.”

“Oh, you heading out? I don’t blame you.” The actor grimaced at all the people around them. “Thanks, though, for the drink. Have a great night.”

Orion was surprisingly down to earth for a movie star; Radford had heard of so many that were just awful. Then again, given Hollywood’s exploitative nature, could he really blame them for being that way? Radford waved at him, then walked towards the door with Kevin who had tucked himself flat against the counter so Ignacio, who was walking towards the bathroom, wouldn’t see him. 

“It was so stuffy in there,” Radford groaned once he stepped out, leaning against the door to close it. 

“Yeah, it was.” Kevin pulled at the sleeves of his sweater from where they’d gotten bunched up. “I’m glad you wanted to leave so bad, ‘cause I really didn’t think it’d be so full tonight.”

“It isn’t usually,” Radford mused, beginning the trek down the street to his car. The snow on the sidewalk crunched underfoot, and he could feel it seeping into the cloth of his Converse. Gross. “But as hot as it was, this cold isn’t much better. Hopefully Abraham’s heater works tonight.”

“‘Abraham’?” Kevin snorted. “You named your car?”

“My mom named it,” Radford sighed, seeing the silhouette of his car through the usual, odd fog that covered the town this time of night. “I’ve been trying to remember it for the past couple days, and Rob reminded me of it before I left. He always wanted this van ‘cause he likes the color blue.”

Kevin folded his arms, picking up the pace as his teeth chattered. “Why Abraham?”

“I dunno. Anyways, didn’t you name your bike ?” Radford made it to the car and jiggled the keys in the lock, his cold hands and lack of stellar vision making it hard to maneuver. Eventually, he did get it unlocked, and he threw the door open with a thud that rocked the whole vehicle. But when Kevin didn’t join him, which was especially weird with how hasty he’d been to get out of the cold before, Radford turned to look for him. “Kev.”

He could see the vague outline of his silhouette in the fog, standing in the middle of the road, and frowned. “Kev,” he called again, walking over and clasping his shoulder. “Hey, let’s get a move on.”

“I don’t think we’ll be ‘getting a move on’ anytime soon, Radford.” Kevin’s voice was hollow as he stared at something on the ground in front of him. “I really, really don’t.”

“What do you mean? What’s-” 

Kevin interrupted him when he pointed at the ground, at the red footprints that surrounded whatever it was. Radford squinted, still not quite able to see, though he tried to reassure himself that it was in fact roadkill and not a person, it couldn’t be a person. Not again, and not here, and not on this night when Radford was supposed to get better.

But sure enough, when the fog cleared, he saw exactly what he had hoped not to see. And unlike with Bob, he couldn’t dredge up any joy at the sight of the body that laid out before him, the body of his sort-of friend that now could never be anything more than just that. Sort-of a friend who was sort-of alive, the lungs that stuck out of his back like wings inhaling and exhaling weakly. How that was even possible Radford didn’t want to know, didn’t want to keep looking at but he just couldn’t stop. His hands flew to his hair and yanked, hard , his braces cutting the inside of his pursed lips. 

“What do we do? W-what even-” Kevin started hyperventilating next to him. “I- Ri- Radford, what do we do?! ”

Radford fumbled in his pocket for his phone, his hands shaking out of control from both the cold and the panic as he tried not to scream. But eventually he couldn’t help it, shoving the phone into Kevin’s hands and screaming, loud, frustrated, miserable, terrified - and even those words weren’t enough to describe how he felt. 

The slaying of Bob Velseb hadn’t been a one time thing and he couldn’t keep reassuring himself it had been anymore. Because here was the proof in front of him, in the form of a half dead Rick Hedony, and he could barely hear Kevin sobbing and trying to hush him over the sound of his own voice tearing his throat apart at the sight.

Maybe it wasn’t the Box Cutter. Maybe it wasn’t Bob Velseb. But no matter who it was, it was still, now undoubtedly someone - someone who was going to have hell to pay if they got any closer. 

Chapter 7: SCENE SEVEN

Notes:

10/21/2024

vomit tw this chapter

-nyx

The next morning, Radford awoke from his fitful sleep just to run to the bathroom and throw up in the toilet. 

As much as he appreciated Jack sending him and Kevin home after their interviews, it wasn’t much better at home compared to the bustling police station. Most of the night was spent trying to sleep whilst having flashbacks to Rick’s body and the events that followed. Once he’d finally gotten to sleep, a night terror he couldn’t remember had woken him right back up. And now he was back to thinking about it.

Bless Jack’s heart. Radford had never seen the guy so stressed, and now he was having to deal with two murders in the same night. Yes, two; that was what he learned when Jack came to pick him up. A woman had been slain outside her apartment. The department was hypothesizing that it may have been two different killers, since the locations were so far apart. When Radford asked for more details, though, like if there was a different modus operandi, Jack said nothing, just clenched his jaw and spun the platinum band around his left ring finger. 

Later, as Radford drove Kevin home, the two of them spotted an ambulance outside Streber’s old apartment building. And though Radford wanted to scope out the scene to at least figure out who had been killed, Kevin argued against it, insisting it would upset the both of them more. Little did Kevin know Radford’s anxious mind was already cobbling together theories of who it was, what the body looked like. If she was still alive like Rick had been for a few minutes after they found him, lungs inflating and deflating shallowly. Impossibly.

Radford let his hair down from the impromptu ponytail he’d pulled back with his hands, staring at the sick in the pot before closing the lid and flushing it down. He thought he would have fared better after the blood, guts, and gore he’d seen over the past month, but there was no getting used to it in real life. At least, not for him, and certainly not for Jack, who seemed squeamish even at the sight of blood painting the snowy street. 

Radford peered at himself in the mirror and wiped vomit off his scabbed lips, wincing at the taste of it. Many new bald spots covered his head, he noticed as he scrutinized his reflection; he’d thought his ponytail felt unusually thin. Surely, if he went back to bed, he’d find his pillow covered in red curls. There was a dull feeling within himself, akin to guilt but not quite the same, and he opened the medicine cabinet. He pushed his fingers under his glasses to clear the sand from his eyes then grabbed some melatonin from the top shelf. Despite it being four in the morning, he chewed the tablets, the strawberry flavor coating his taste buds as he trudged through the hallway and back to his room. 

Once he drifted to sleep, melatonin cradling him all the way, he found himself in that field, the same it always was. Yet this time, he wasn’t alone; he felt eyes on him and turned to see a weeping willow, long branches dancing in the gentle breeze. They almost seemed like arms, reaching out to draw him in, caressing his face with slender leaves, coaxing his eyes closed. The more time passed, the more the leaves began to feel like soft fingers, although he didn’t dare open his eyes to look out of fear he’d be met with nothing more than that familiar shadow.

Hope shattered the dream hours later, when she called him for lunch that she and Robbie had generously made. Instead of going downstairs, the first thing he did was check in his mirror for any scratches, but there were none on his gaunt cheeks nor his arms. How odd; even the old ones seemed to have healed. He fed the rats, then rushed down the stairs to feed himself, still a bit groggy.

Kevin, who slept on the couch downstairs, was seated at the kitchen table with the kids. He offered Radford a wordless nod when he plopped into the seat next to him. Seemed he had slept just as poorly if not worse, with dark bags drooping beneath his eyes and his hair an utter mess. 

Soon, Robbie set steaming plates of something in front of both of them; glancing down, Radford found his plate covered in chopped hot dogs, slightly burnt tomato sauce, and macaroni noodles. 

“Spaghetti,” Kevin explained, swallowing down the bite he just took with effort. His nose wrinkled, and he snatched the salt from the middle of the table, dumping it on the dish.

“We couldn’t find the spaghetti noodles, or the meatballs, so we improvised.” Robbie served himself another scoop of the concoction with a grin. “I think it turned out pretty good!”

“Thanks, Rob.” Radford was used to Robbie’s weird cooking by this point, but at least he sort of knew how to cook; Radford barely could at that age. After stirring the noodles into the sauce to coat them and grabbing a piece of hot dog with his fork, he took a bite. Not as bad as Kevin was trying to make it out to be. The melatonin still weighed heavy on him, so he turned his attention to Robbie and Hope’s conversation, not in the mood to join in. Of course, it didn’t help when his brother asked where he’d been all night. 

Radford and Kevin exchanged a look, and the latter shook his head. Not that Radford was going to be honest in the first place - Robbie didn’t need to be dragged into this so soon. Especially given that, even though he was still acting cheerful, Radford knew he was tackling his own issues. He’d been abducted by the Box Cutter, for goodness sakes, and had also been at Streber’s apartment the night he was attacked. “We were just hanging out,” Radford said with a wry smile. “Taking advantage of there not being a curfew anymore.”

“Oh yeah!” Hope piped up, kicking her feet as she ate. “Are we gonna go look at the lights soon?” 

Typically, around the holiday season, Radford would load Hope, Robbie, and occasionally Streber, in his car and they’d drive around town, marveling over the impressive displays in storefronts or their neighbors’ lawns. This year, though, with Abraham’s heater being finicky, he wasn’t sure if it’d be a comfortable experience even if he was in the mood to go. So to spare Hope’s feelings and everyone else’s worry, he didn’t answer the question and kept eating.

Hope shrugged and dug back into her own meal, like she thought Radford just hadn’t heard her. He noticed Robbie staring at him, though, and gave him a pointed look before shoving a forkful of “spaghetti” in his mouth, trying to prove in a roundabout way that he was okay. After that, the rest of lunch was silent save for Hope’s aimless humming, the loud whirring of the heater, and the scratching of forks against plates. 

Once Radford was done, he stood to scrape his plate in the trash, then placed it in the dishwasher. As he did, he noticed Michelle’s cookies sitting on the counter next to the sink, a few missing from the holiday plate Dexter delivered them on. “You guys ate some of the cookies?”

“Last night.” Robbie reached over to grab one, but instead of keeping it for himself he handed it to Radford. “You should have one, too! They’re really good.”

Chocolate smeared on Radford’s hands as he looked at the cookie. Dexter must not have done anything to them, then, since his siblings seemed okay. But why, when the exterminator clearly wanted to be anything but nice to him? Even when delivering them, they had that spiteful smirk on their face. Radford was afraid of what they would have done or said had Gregor not caught them off guard. 

He glanced up at Robbie, who seemed confused as to why he hadn’t eaten the cookie yet. “I’m full,” he lied through his teeth. 

It was weird when he thought about it. He hated how awful Dexter treated him; they were an asshole to the point it was getting dangerous. But at the same time, deep down, he also knew he deserved it. Trying to back himself up by reminding himself of what Streber wanted wasn’t working anymore, nor was insisting he would have told them had he found the time. There wasn’t any excuse for the way he treated Dexter, because it had been out of jealousy and fear, just like everything else had. And there was that pang inside again, an echo of what Kevin had asked him the other day. If he knew why that was. 

“Radford?”

Radford blinked down at his now cookie-covered hand, chocolate chips melting through his fingers, buttery crumbs sprinkling the floor. When he looked up, Robbie was still in front of him, brows furrowed over eyes filled with worry. They roamed over Radford’s hands, then his hair, seeming to take note of the new bald spots. 

“Are you sure nothing happened last night?” he asked, lowering his voice so the others couldn’t hear. 

Before Radford could answer, honestly or otherwise, Kevin piped up from the table. “Hey, uh…Rob, your brother’s gotta drive me home so I can get ready for work, okay?”

Robbie’s concerned gaze lingered on Radford for a moment. “Okay,” he said, walking to the supply cabinet and grabbing a broom. “If you say so. I hope you enjoyed lunch.”

Now heavy with both medication and remorse, Radford dragged himself up the stairs and changed into something more acceptable than a Mr. Bubble Bubble Bath pajama shirt and a pair of plaid boxers. He made an attempt to comb over where he’d torn his hair out, then, frustrated, just tied it up in a ponytail instead, using one of the hairbands on his wrist. It almost looked intentional, like he’d shaved the sides on purpose - hopefully it’d be perceived that way. 

But it wasn’t even enough, he thought, his fingers curling around another hunk of hair and starting to tug, premature regret and painful respite twisting together in his muddled headspace.

“Radford, we gotta go!”

His hands dropped back to his side and he swallowed hard, tearing his gaze from his monstrous reflection. With a soft sigh, he shoved on his shoes, bending the backs as he did, and descended the stairs. The keys jingled as he pulled them off the hook, and he handed them to Kevin when the latter joined him at the door. 

“What?” he asked, his voice low. 

Radford didn’t know how to explain that he just didn’t feel safe driving right now, so he didn’t, and closed Kevin’s fingers around the keys. “You two be good,” he called over his shoulder to Robbie and Hope and the sounds of dishes clanging as they were thrown into the sink. “I’ll be back soon.”

To be honest, Radford had ulterior motives when it came to dropping Kevin off. He and Streber had lived in the same apartment complex, so after Kevin got inside his building safe and sound, Radford would loop around and scope the scene of the other murder last night. It would be a little less personal since it likely wasn’t someone he knew, and since he wasn’t going to see the body. The police had been called, too, according to Jack, so that meant there must have been witnesses. Maybe he could talk to them, get a better idea of what happened to the woman. 

Radford didn’t tell Kevin that, but from how quiet his friend was it seemed he already knew. He reached over and turned up the radio to fill the silence just as Kevin began to speak. 

“Are you going to be okay?”

The short answer was, of course, ‘no’, but Radford couldn’t say that. From a young age he internalized that no one who asked about your wellbeing wanted to hear anything more than an offhanded “I’m okay”. Not to mention, he didn’t want to have to explain how the guilt was eating him from the inside out, or how nothing had been fixed by ending the movie because he hadn’t thought enough about what would happen after. If anything, he thought it would be over and done with. But that couldn’t be further from the truth, and now here he was in the midst of an even more fucked up sequel. His only hope was to figure out what was going on or he was sure all his guilt would have left to chew on was his bones.

“Don’t worry,” Radford answered at last when Kevin braked in front of his building and put the car in park. “Have a good shift.”

Kevin gave him a searching look, then pressed his lips together in a frown. He unbuckled his seatbelt. “I’ll try.” 

And then Radford was alone in the car. 

He swung his leg over the middle console and climbed into the driver’s seat with a soft grunt of effort, his joints popping as he did, and the van crept forward, heading in the direction of Streber’s old apartment building. Surely by now they’d cleaned the bloodstains out of the carpet, made it marketable for some other poor person who would have to deal with Streber’s bitch of a neighbor. 

Once he made it to the right building, he noticed the crime scene tape surrounding an area of the sidewalk near the front. A news van was parked a little ways down the street, and a broadcast team seemed to be reporting in that area, shoving a microphone in some poor woman’s face. He couldn’t see her too well amid the hubbub, but he thought she was one of Streber’s friends.

“Hey, hey!” Radford parked the car and jumped out, running to the woman’s aid. He’d avoided being on TV for this long, but now all eyes and cameras turned in his direction and it was almost like a stampede when they all rushed at him. At least they abandoned the woman in the process, allowing her time to run into the building. 

“You’re Radford Hannigan,” the news reporter mused, microphone to his lips as he signaled for the camera to keep rolling even though their original subject of torture had run off. “Do you mind if we ask you a few questions?”

Radford rolled his eyes. “I’m guessing I don’t have much of a choice, just like she didn’t,” he muttered under his breath, though it was likely loud in the mic. Good. “You can ask me all the questions you want, after you tell me what happened here.” 

A scowl creased the news man’s face, and he made eye contact with the cameraman before nodding for them to turn it off. He then turned back to Radford and asked, “What do you want to know?”

“Whatever she told you.” Radford pointed at the front doors of the apartment that were still in the process of closing. “You guys make it a point to share information, and I’m not watching the news right now. So give me some information.”

“Fine,” the news man said, “in exchange for an exclusive interview.”

Radford had already agreed to that; and he thought Dexter was bad at listening. “Sure.”

The reporter fixed his collar, then waved his hand in the direction of the police tape. “Miss Aria-” Right, Aria! “-had just come back from getting groceries when she found her neighbor laying on the sidewalk, several bones broken and bleeding from her head.” He pointed at the dried puddle of blood that hadn’t yet been washed out of the ground, although it was significantly smaller than Radford would have expected. “Aria first thought she’d jumped off the balcony, noting that she was hateful and miserable enough that she wouldn’t have been shocked, but looking up she noticed the window had been broken. Like someone shoved her out.”

Radford craned his neck to look at the side of the building, and sure enough, there was a broken window. Two, actually, though the other one’s curtains were drawn. Familiar, forest green curtains. “There’s two broken,” he murmured, half to himself and half to the reporter, as he watched the curtains sway from the breeze through the broken window. 

“Strange, right?” The man folded his arms, an eerie smile on his face. Radford was quick to realize that this man found this entire thing entertaining. Then again, if the woman who died was Streber’s neighbor, good riddance. “Despite that, there was only one body. But the strangest part was what Aria discovered about the original body. It didn’t seem like the fall had been what killed her, because-” The ringing of a cell phone interrupted the story, and with a groan, the news man pulled his phone out of his pocket. “Yes?” He held up a finger to Radford, who felt his anger rising, his face growing hot. “Give me just a minute.”

But Radford didn’t have a minute, which was why, in a crazy rush of bravado, he grabbed the man’s phone from him and threw it on the ground, not caring how much it smashed when it landed. “No,” he insisted as the man shrunk back from him and the rest of the crew ran off towards the news van. As if he was the killer, or was capable of doing much more than breaking a cellular. “Tell me what happened.”

“Jesus Christ, what is your problem?” The reporter snapped, crouching to pick up his shattered phone, more shards of glass falling out when he did. “You broke my fucking phone!”

“If the fall didn’t kill that lady, then what did?” Radford asked, hands moving to tug at his hair against his will. He was desperate, he needed to know - he wasn’t sure why, but now more than ever did he need to know. “You gotta tell me, man, please .”

The reporter tucked his phone back in his pocket, shook his head, and scurried off with his posse. “Leave me alone or I’m calling the police!” he yelled over his shoulder.

“I think their hands are a little full right now!” Radford screamed after the van as it drove off, careening down the block and around the corner. He felt his face grow chilly the calmer he got, the wintry weather contrasting with his angry, red flush as he stood alone on the sidewalk. Then, with shaky steps, he made his way up to the door, pressing familiar numbers that used to make up Streber’s entry code. But every time he pressed the numbers, the lock beeped angrily. Had they changed the codes since the Box Cutter incident? No, no, they couldn’t have - he needed to see. He needed to see. 

Just as he was about to start banging on the door, it opened with a soft clack, and a familiar head of blue hair poked out from behind it. 

“Hey,” Aria murmured, and now that Radford could see her up close he noticed how deep her eyebags were, forehead lined with worry. “You’re Radford, right?”

Chapter 8: SCENE EIGHT

Radford promised himself he wouldn’t stay long; there was no use bothering someone who was mourning just as much as he was.

Plastic grocery bags littered the granite countertop, still full of whatever Aria had bought the previous night. They rustled when the door opened, and continued as Aria held it for him to go inside. Radford couldn’t remember the last time he visited a home that wasn’t Streber’s, but now he was in the middle of the apartment of someone he hardly knew. It suited her, the walls, rugs, and furniture all cool shades of blue and green. 

Pictures of friends and family covered the wall over her bed, organized like a mosaic. He recognized Streber’s smiling face in several from where he stood yards away, twin snaggleteeth poking out over his bottom lip like fangs. Some of them were of him in costume at the annual haunted house their friend group ran together, while others were of just him and Aria hanging out at home or building sets in their high school drama club. 

“So,” Aria said, hanging her cardigan on the hook by the door. Radford followed suit and placed his jacket next to hers, regretting it as soon as the first goosebumps prickled at his bare arms. 

“So?” He raised an eyebrow, intrigued by why she let him inside despite him behaving like a maniac out front. “What’s up?”

Aria shrugged. She approached her deep blue sofa, beckoning Radford to follow her. “You’re the one who tried to break in,” she said. “So what’s up with you? The shit show out there not enough for you?”

“Well, you saw it, right?” he asked, still hovering by the doorway, afraid to walk in any further. He wanted a quick conversation, in and out.

“Saw what?” Aria folded her arms and stretched her legs to rest on the coffee table, making herself nice and comfortable - and Radford jealous. “That my neighbor’s dead? Good riddance. She was awful to everyone on this floor.”

Radford agreed, but it was more the nature behind the woman’s death that he was interested in. The reporter had said Aria noticed something weird about the body, right? Not to mention the detail about Streber’s window being broken too… “But she didn’t commit suicide, did she?” 

Aria’s gaze lingered on Radford’s hair - specifically his bald patches - as she ran her fingers through her own. “No, she pretty obviously didn’t. She was happy when she found out Streber died - even chatted up the crime scene cleaner. Tried to get their number and whatnot.” Her nose curled in disgust. “While me, Leon, Liv and I were standing outside trying to make sure his place didn’t get looted by any other neighbors, she stood on her balcony drinking fine wine.”

What a bitch! She was even worse than Radford thought, and he’d heard so many of Streber’s horror stories from her intrusive questions about his sex life to knocking his clean clothes on the ground at the laundromat. “Why did she hate him that much?”

Aria's lips tightened into a thin line, and her gaze fell to rest on her ultramarine rug. “She always picked on him since he moved in,” she explained, pointing to a picture on the wall of Streber in front of his open apartment door, boxes stacked up behind him. He was a bit younger, so it must have been from his first day there. Radford could barely see his own red curls peeking from behind the door frame. Ethan was unpacking a box in the background along with Blaz, another friend of Streber’s. He wondered if Ethan’s body had been identified in Bob Velseb’s freezer, and if it had been, was Aria mourning them, too? “I think it started out that she was used to no one staying in that apartment. No one wanted to take it because it’d been screwed up from the last renter and the staff would rather die than fix it. But you know Streber - he needed to get out, and was fine taking on a fixer upper to do it.”

As someone who had helped Streber with a lot of those home improvement projects, Radford knew all too well how determined Streber had been to make his apartment the best temporary home he could. So much cleaning, so much spackle and painting and maintenance work. Still a dumb reason to hate someone, for just existing; there had to be more than that. “But?” Aria tilted her head, and Radford waved his hand, encouraging her to continue. "I mean, there's gotta be a 'but', right?"

“Well,” Aria looked Radford up and down, and he felt self-consciousness flare from within. “You, I guess?”

“Me?”

Aria raised her hands in defense as Radford looked on, startled. What had he done, other than be a good friend? And get kissed on the cheek that one time? “And us , of course,” she tacked on, “but you hung around his place almost constantly . First she complained about parties, but eventually it turned into ‘orgies’ and how he was a gender-confused slut. She tried to get him kicked out.”

Streber had never told Radford anything like that, at least not that he could remember. He tried to find the right words to say but could only manage a half-hearted “I had no idea.”

“He had no idea, either.” Aria sank into the plush couch and closed her eyes, still combing her fingers through her hair as it waterfalled down her back. They sat in uncomfortable silence for several minutes before she spoke up again. “He didn’t scream that night.”

Radford felt himself grow numb, his brain screaming at him to tell her he didn't want to talk about that.

“I heard you, but I didn’t hear him.” She cleared her throat, like what she was about to say was going to be hard to. “And, um, I just wanted to tell you, the other night on the news, someone was talking about the Box Cutter case. One of those tinfoil hat types. Of course I thought it was bullshit, but with everything going on lately, especially how his window was broken from the inside last night…” She reached out a hand to touch his shoulder, presumably to comfort him, but he winced away from her. “Some people are starting to think he didn’t actually die.”

Why would she ever think Radford would want to hear that? He was already struggling enough and didn't need false hope. False hope was something he was fine giving himself, but he didn't want it from other people. It felt cruel. “Is that why all those pictures are still on your wall?” he asked, his voice wavering.

Aria hung her head, folding her hands in her lap. “Look, I get it. You ran away and I don’t blame you. But it was me and Leon and…well, all of us that live here who broke down the door, found him there, called 911. He was still breathing, Radford. Delirious, but still alive. He wanted more time and got it, but I wish you’d been there to hear what he said because he meant it for you. He thought we were you.”

A shiver traveled down his spine. So that meant Streber’s vocal cords hadn’t been severed - had the Box Cutter even bothered to cut his throat at all, because it knew he wouldn’t scream? He’d obviously had a slower death if he’d been able to say something…

While he wanted to ask what was said, he couldn't handle that - it would only make everything sting. "So he wasn’t dead when the ambulance got there?” he asked instead.

“It was a blur, really. I don’t remember if he was still breathing or not in the end. But…part of me hopes that he was, or that they were able to do something for him.” She pursed her lips, an odd look in her eyes. “He did get ‘buried’, but you know there have been false burials. It's not like we can check, but it's possible.”

For a minute Radford considered it, but that was a fucked up thing to think - not to mention the topic was bordering on delusion - so he stopped. “Guess not.”

“I hope that gives you some peace,” Aria said after another moment of awkward silence. She gestured at his hair, attempting to change the subject from the looks of it - thank goodness. “You’re doing that hair pulling thing again, aren’t you? Like when you first moved here?”

Radford sighed, running his fingers through his curls and over the bald spots. It wasn't a "hair pulling thing". His old therapist called it trichotillomania, and explained it as a way he'd learned to deal with stress before escapism could do that for him. It had never stopped, but until now had been much better. “I wish it looked more intentional, it’d be way less embarrassing that way.” 

Aria tilted her head in curiosity, then cast a glance in the direction of her bathroom. “I have some clippers if you want me to even it out. It won’t take away the patches, but hair grows." Huh, Radford hadn't thought of it like that. "‘Sides, you’d be way less tempted to pull if there's nothing there.” 

Radford probably would find something else to mess with instead, like his eyebrows or lashes, but it was worth a shot. “You know how to cut hair?”

“I gave Streber his first haircut in high school, and I think it turned out pretty well. At least, he liked it. And I still cut Liv’s.” Aria rose from the couch and walked to the bathroom, hovering in the doorway like she wanted him to follow. Begrudgingly, he did. A lit candle sat on the counter, its flame flickering and casting odd shadows around the room. It smelled very blue; he wasn’t sure how else to describe it than that. 

She sat him down on the white toilet lid with a smile and wrapped a towel around his neck, like that would help. Then, she took his hair down from its high ponytail and allowed it to cascade down his shoulders. “And you’re sure about this, right?”

“Should I not be?” Radford asked, raising an eyebrow at her in the mirror. 

The whir of the clippers was the only response he received, and he watched Aria work in the mirror. As he sat, waiting for the trim to be over, he mulled over the outlandish information Aria gave him. She maneuvered the clippers around his right ear, careful not to nick it as she shaved down his patchy sideburns - or whatever they were called, he didn’t know. “What’re you thinking about?” she asked over the buzzing after a couple of minutes.

“Do you know who the conspiracy theorist from the news was?” he asked, meeting her eyes in the mirror.

“Not sure,” she mused, tapping her chin in thought. She then patted his shoulder and gestured for him to turn around so she could shave the other side. “It was during a phone call segment. Definitely someone cranky, though. He got sharp with the anchor so often he had to hang up on him.”

Uh oh . Radford had a sneaking suspicion he knew who it was - and who was going to be the next person subject to his questioning. “It’s gotta be Ignacio," he muttered. Sure, there were plenty of old and cranky people in the town, but he only knew one person who was a shut-in to a survivalist degree, and that was Ignacio.

“Ugh, yeah, that guy!” Aria groaned; she didn’t sound too enthused at the mention of the man. "I remember one time we were selling chocolate bars for the drama club and he got super pissed when we knocked on his door.”

Radford remembered that story; he also remembered the conclusion of how they all just dropped their candy and ran off. When the drama teacher asked where the chocolate went, Streber came up with a story that his dog had gotten into it and had to get his stomach pumped. He hadn’t had a dog at that point but the story got so much buzz that the principal called Streber and his mother to the office to issue an apology. Needless to say, even though his mother didn’t tell the principal her child had lied, Streber was grounded for two weeks for that one. 

Aria snickered as he recounted the story, her grip on the clippers growing shaky. “I still can’t believe the only time Streber actually acted was for the haunted house and those short films you guys made. What a drama… king ? Drama monarch ?” 

“Monarch probably fits the best.” Radford craned his neck towards the mirror to see what Aria was doing, but she sharply turned his head back to where it was to finish the last few passes. “I’m gonna be honest,” he sighed, “I’ve been trying not to think of him lately.” Which was funny, because every time he managed to, something else reminded him.

“Why?” The clippers turned off, and Aria’s smooth hands glided through his hair. “Memories are how we keep people we love alive. And yes, I know how corny I sound right now, but it’s true.”

Radford stiffened, jaw clenching as his fingers dug into his thighs. That was what everyone told him after his parents went missing, to remember them as they were and that was how they’d be found. But it hadn’t worked, and even if there was the slightest chance Streber could be alive, he wouldn’t be the same either, would he? The Box Cutter had likely destroyed everything he had been, just like it had to Radford. 

He turned to the mirror, and a reflection stared back. He swallowed hard and watched its Adam’s apple bob in tandem, watched its hand move along with his to touch its hair, but it still didn’t look like him. Sure it did in appearance, but far from it in spirit. He felt possessed but in the way that, while it was still him now, it wouldn’t be soon. 

“Thanks, Aria,” he said drily, reaching into his wallet, which he had placed on the counter, and handing her a ten dollar bill. Because his hair did look nice. There was something glam punk about it, long ginger curls in sharp contrast with the patchy, shaved sides. 

Her eyes widened as she looked at the crumpled bill laying limp in her hand. “Oh come on, you don’t have to pay me,” she insisted, trying to press it back into his hands. 

But before she could, he stood from the toilet lid and left the bathroom, the candle’s scent following him out. “No, it’s fine. You gave me more than a haircut today.” He slipped his jacket back on, and after tying up his hair again, took the keys to Abraham off the hook as he formulated a plan of how he would use them. Could he make it to Ignacio's before dinnertime, or would he have to leave it until tomorrow?

“It’s just,” she stood in the bathroom doorway, the bright lights behind her making it hard to see anything other than her silhouette. “You don’t seem… okay . Especially not now. I’m sorry for bringing him up, but-”

“No, it’s all right.” His hand lingered on the cool, metal doorknob. “Thanks for your help, Aria.”

“No problem.” Her profile grew more slender as she hugged herself. “Promise to be careful?”

Without a second thought, the door closed with a click behind him and he traversed down the familiar hall, past the dead woman’s door and coming to a stop in front of Streber’s. 

He didn’t want to make another promise that day because he knew it wasn’t one he could keep. 

Chapter 9: SCENE NINE

Notes:

10/31/2024

IT’S THE SPOOKIEST DAY OF THE SPOOKIEST MONTH so have chapter nine of off the reels.
there’s a pretty lewd joke this chapter so just…be advised lol.

-nyx

The house’s windows were devoid of any light even behind the boards that covered them. What would have been flower beds out front were laden with barbed wire, and smacked across the front of the garage door was a no trespassing sign. Security cameras were posted at each corner of the house, pointing towards the street. Surely, the only thing stopping the owner from building a fence around the front was the homeowner’s association.

That was all to say, Radford was sure that the moment he stepped onto Ignacio’s lawn, he would be staring down the barrel of a gun. He hovered at the edge of the sidewalk, making eye contact with the security cameras. Blue lights blinked menacingly in return; they knew he was there and were watching him, recording every step he took closer to the weedy and overgrown stepping stones. He could even hear a sound, something like an alarm, coming from inside the house. The snow had melted for the most part but piles still covered the old man’s brown and yellow grass and leaves.

He stepped onto the first stone, bracing himself for the ground to swallow him up or something because he wouldn’t put that past Ignacio…but nothing happened, and moments later he was on the porch, safe and sound. Fuzzy green moss plagued the cracks in the pavement, and Radford gazed at them, as well as the freshly delivered daily newspaper, as he lifted his hand to knock on the door. He didn’t want to come face to face with Ignacio after ignoring every sign and warning in the yard. 

There was a shuffle behind the door, and as the inhabitant’s angry grumbles grew nearer, Radford was overcome with the urge to run while he still could, bolt down the street with his ponytail streaking behind him. But he didn’t, and instead remained standing there, his hands balled up in his jacket’s worn pockets. 

The door swung open with a thud against the doorstop. 

“What’s wrong with you, can’t you read the signs?!” 

Ignacio’s voice cut through the otherwise still atmosphere outside. Even though he was expecting it, Radford jumped and took a few steps back, his heel catching on the edge of the porch. “U-uh, yes sir,” he stuttered, his spine snapping straight. “I just wanted to ask you a few questions-”

“No, I don’t want any, no I don’t want to join your church, goodbye !” Gregor must have come to visit him, too - poor guy. Ignacio folded his arms, blocking the door so Radford couldn’t even peek inside. While his small stature wasn’t anything to sniff at, his temper more than made up for it. 

But Radford didn’t want to back down. “It’s not about that,” he said, speaking up, trying to sound as firm as he could. Ignacio raised an unamused eyebrow. “It’s about the show the other day. You called in about-” He fumbled, not sure if Ignacio would recognize Streber’s name, but he didn’t want to deadname him... “You called about the Grimstad case?”

Eyes narrowed, Ignacio craned his neck to look behind Radford before pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’re that clown they talk about in the news.” Radford nodded. “Ugh, fine . Maybe I can answer a few questions, but make it quick.” That had been easier than Radford expected. He started to walk up on the porch again, gearing up to go into his house, but Ignacio didn’t move an inch. “Whatever you have to ask, you can do it out here.”

Then Radford would have to make these questions count. He tried to narrow down the ones he wanted to ask in the first place to account for the unspoken limit - but all of them were important. Although, it seemed Ignacio was getting impatient, his foot tapping on the hard floor inside his house, so Radford just blurted the first thing that came to mind. “So you really think he’s alive?”

Ignacio sighed and dragged a hand down his face like he was already exhausted by this discussion. “What else would he be?” he asked, tapping his fingers on his arms, then answered his own question with another. “Oh, let me guess, a ‘ghost’? Like the rest of this damn town seems to think?”

“Well, maybe-”

“Ghosts aren’t real,” Ignacio shut him down, nostrils flaring as he rolled his eyes. He took a beat, stealing another glance at the space behind Radford, like they were being watched, then locked eyes with him again. “Ghosts aren’t real, let’s get that out of the way. They aren’t real, and believing in them won’t help you solve this. So that’s the first thing you don’t want to do when you ask questions, is say that anything other than human did this.” 

Radford wasn’t sure if Ignacio was just saying useless drivel to get him off his case, but again…it did sort of make sense. “So you think Streber’s alive.” 

“Did you not hear a word I just said?” Ignacio chuffed out a bitter laugh. “Did you even watch the news the other night, or did you just come to call me crazy like everyone else?”

“I didn’t watch the news,” Radford started, and Ignacio responded by slamming the door shut. But that didn’t stop Radford, who began to shout, figuring that the man would do whatever it took to shut him up. He didn’t seem the type to want neighbors checking on him. “But I heard about it from a friend, and I believe you! I want to hear about your theory!”

The door swung open, just grazing Radford’s nose. Ouch! “Shut up!” Ignacio yelled, clamping a wrinkled hand over Radford’s mouth so he couldn’t yell anymore. The latter winced away at the heavy scent of smoke on the man’s hand - what had he been doing to smell like that? “You’re obnoxious…but no one else is willing to listen. Maybe you’ll set everyone else straight yet.”

Just as he planned! Radford gave Ignacio two enthusiastic thumbs up, and the recluse groaned, already seeming tired of his shit once more. He made a note to be less excitable lest he get the door slammed in his face again. “So, tell me again,” he prompted. “Why do you think he’s alive?”

Ignacio nodded at the daily newspaper, still wrapped in its bag on his front porch just inches from Radford’s feet. “No one reads the paper anymore,” he mused, “but I do. And I get up early to pick it up.”

Radford rolled his eyes, preparing for the man to start championing himself for his old age and how he was raised. Nothing he hadn’t heard from John despite his uncle being significantly younger, though it was still obnoxious.

“On the 17th, the paper talked about how Grimstad was, despite all odds, taken to the hospital,” Ignacio continued. “He made it through the night after his attack because - and only because - the wounds were more shallow on him than the other victims, and he managed to dress them. Not well, but substantially. Then, his friends - you excluded because you were off ‘saving the town’ from Big Bad - broke down the door and called the useful idiots in to take care of him.”

“It said all of that in the paper?” Radford squinted at him in disbelief. If that had been in the paper, then why wasn’t it in any of the newscasts about the situation? Even worse…why hadn’t Jack told him? 

“Well,” Ignacio looked over his shoulder, through the void behind his doorway, like he heard something. “It was in the paper. Later in the morning, there was another paper at the door.” 

“There’s usually two, though, right?” Radford searched his memory for the last time he paid attention to anything like that, but only one thing stood out: that the reason John spent such a long time reading the paper was because there were two. “One local, one national or at least statewide?”

“Good guess, but no. It was the local paper again, but this time it was different.” Ignacio picked up the newspaper on his porch, pointing to the title with one chipped nail. “This is about the time the second paper comes, about noon. But that was too early for the second paper.”

 A little nervous about what Ignacio was going to say next, Radford braced himself and took a shaky breath. “So...you’re saying they reprinted the paper because something changed? Switched them out when someone realized the outdated version was distributed instead?” What a waste of time and resources, if that was the case.

Ignacio nodded, his expression grave. “You moved here, what, four years ago?” 

That was a topic change, not to mention creepy . “Uh, yeah?”

“Sorry, your personal life has been a topic of discussion by every news outlet. Not so personal anymore.” Ignacio tossed the newspaper over his shoulder. “So you’ve only been around for one of Evermore’s mayoral terms, I take it.” 

That had been one other thing Radford remembered after moving to Los Ocultos: the hubbub about Mayor Evermore versus - who was it again? - for the mayoral office about three years ago. Unlike any other local elections he had experienced, everyone seemed tense regarding that one. “Yeah.” He nodded, unsure of what else to say. 

“Well, one thing about Narciso is that he will do whatever he has to to make himself look good,” Ignacio spat, his voice tight and shoulders tense. He seemed less annoyed, more…distressed, almost? “He will push anyone down, cover anyone up to make sure he looks like an angel. Including…”

Radford’s eyes widened as he caught up to where Ignacio was going with this. “ Including cover up the true story,” he finished, an uncomfortable feeling setting in. But the more he started to accept what Ignacio said, the more he noticed glaring errors in the story. “But if he was trying to cover up that Streber was alive, why…I mean, if he still is, wouldn’t that raise more questions from the public? And why let the news of the murders get out in the first place?”

“He and his legal eagles weren’t equipped to handle them when they first happened, especially with Carmen’s family breathing down their necks,” Ignacio explained through his teeth, voice full of contempt. “But something else you’ve missed from the newspaper: Evermore is making others take out his dirty laundry. He’s launching a new ‘anti-crime initiative’ - as if that’ll do anything - and is planning on replacing the sheriff and deputy with two more of his loyal dogs.” 

Radford almost forgot that the mayor was the one to appoint the sheriff and deputy sheriff in this town, rather than them being elected. “So he’s trying to pretend it wasn’t on him?”

“Now, if I wanted to give him a little grace: he’s not the one out there in the streets.” Ignacio snorted. “But, I don’t want to give him grace. He’s an awful mayor, and he can pound sand whenever he isn’t pounding his own dick to his own reflection.” 

“ Oookay !” An awkward smile strained Radford’s cheeks at the vulgar comment; he was starting to think Ignacio’s hatred for the mayor was based upon a personal vendetta. “But with Streber…”

“It’s probably because he doesn’t want anyone talking about what happened to them. First he doesn’t want them pointing fingers at him rather than the cops, so it’s going to bully him into silence. Second,” the hermit glanced around to make certain no one was watching or listening other than the cameras, then leaned in closer. “If the guy is still alive after being pronounced dead, it’s going to make Evermore look even better. Make everyone think every victim is dead, then shock and amaze them when Eden Hospital’s best can make Grimstad better again. Lessen the pain. And you know there will be another media storm after that, too.” 

Like the paparazzi hounding Orion. Like the news harassing Aria the other day. “Could Evermore really do all that?” he asked. “Pull so many strings?”

“He’s been doing it since he got elected the first time. Because he’s so damn proud.” Ignacio’s hands balled into fists, and Radford decided he didn’t want to talk about the mayor anymore. While he didn’t have plans, he didn’t want to hear about Ignacio’s ex drama or whatever this was. 

“But Streber had a burial.” 

“It’s just as real as the information they’re trying to bury his living, breathing, body with.” 

That sent more chills down Radford’s spine than anything else the old man had said to him, and he swallowed hard. Sure, all of this could be bullshit. Ignacio had little to no knowledge of the Box Cutter case to begin with, given the fact the true identity nor the paranormal origins of the killer were released. Not to mention, it seemed he had a checkered past with the mayor and had, if nothing else, never had a sign boasting the guy’s name in his yard. But at the same time, some of this seemed plausible; after all, in the store the other day, Lila mentioned Evermore tearing down the theater entirely. And it wasn’t like he was a stand up guy in the first place, because John hated working for him. 

Then again, John seemed to hate everyone. 

Radford wasn’t sure how much he believed or not, but he was well aware that no one in the government could be trusted. Despite being a cranky hermit, Ignacio was much more believable than any politician in Radford’s eyes. 

“Got it,” he said, his braces cutting his pursed lips. He was about to thank him and turn to leave before he remembered something: one more piece of proof that might tip his personal scales of probability. “Can I see those newspapers? The old one and the replacement?”

Ignacio glared at him from behind the already cracked door, which Radford took as a no when the door closed. 

Thud. 

…That hadn’t been the thud of the door shutting. 

“Hello?” Radford reached for the knob, but before he could, he heard the click of a lock. “Ignacio?” He tried to jiggle the knob anyway, then knocked on the door, pressing his ear to it in case the man might respond. But he couldn’t hear anything other than a scuffle and a strange, shaky gasp, then a crash as something hit the floor. “Ignacio?” he tried again - the guy was old, was he having a heart attack or something? But why would he lock the door? Unless it hadn’t been him…

Radford’s eyes flew wide and he stumbled backwards off the porch, immediately running to the garage. But there was no handle to lift it, nor did he know the code. He then ran to the side of the house, but unlike the front the backyard was fenced in, and barbed wire swirled around the top of it. Every single window was boarded up, so it was useless to try and break through the glass. As he stared uselessly at the house that he had no way of breaking into, he had to wonder - how had whatever was inside now made it? The barbed wire fence stretched around the entire yard, even the back, and there wasn’t a gate. And there were cameras everywhere, wouldn’t Ignacio have been alerted to anything suspicious just like he had with Radford earlier? 

Unless, yet again, the killer was undetectable by any camera, their body riddled with static holes from the fence though they weren’t hurt at all. Perhaps they slipped through a crack in a backdoor, or located a loose board on a broken window…

But that didn’t matter. No matter how they’d done it, they were inside. They were inside and they were killing him, the one person they shouldn’t have been able to. 

And all Radford could think was not again.

Chapter 10: SCENE TEN

 “He’s alive, isn’t he?”

That was the first thing Radford said to Jack after his long night at the station. It had been the same as after Rick’s death: he interviewed Radford for a little while, just to learn the specifics, then sent him home. However, this time, Radford was much more conscious of the cameras around the police station, including the one recording their interview.

As someone who always held an interest in film, Radford knew better than anyone how the framing of a scene or situation could change someone's perception. Depending if context was added or removed, it could have a whole new meaning to the person who saw it. With Ignacio’s theories fresh in his mind, he had to cherrypick his words around them, make sure that nothing could be twisted or turned the wrong way.

He was glad that now that he was home, he wouldn't have to be so careful anymore, especially with Jack looking at him the way he was.

“Oh, Radford,” the deputy said as he took off his coat, in a tone that could only be described as pitying.

“No, Jack,” Radford pushed; he didn’t want pity right now because he wasn’t sad, more furious that Jack may have been lying to him about everything. “Please don’t give me that right now.” 

They both glanced upwards when they heard noise coming from Hope’s room. “I am not going to do this with Hope still here.” Jack hung his coat on the coat rack and pushed past him to get to the kitchen and make himself a cup of coffee. Radford couldn’t believe the man was using his little cousin as a scapegoat for why they couldn’t have this conversation, but he’d play nice until her pickup group got her. 

Ten tense minutes later, Hope trotted down, a big pink bow clipped on the back of her head. Radford already set out her breakfast, generic cookie cereal poured in second to the milk just like she liked it (for some reason). He also chopped up a green apple for her, though the cuts were uneven due to his shaky hands. Hopefully the caramel sauce he’d slathered on the plate would make up for it. 

“Were you out late again, Mister Jack?” Hope asked as she munched on the meal, her mismatched, socked feet kicking under the table. She didn’t seem oblivious to the tension in the room, the trembling of Radford’s overtired body, or the way Jack buried his face in his coffee mug to avoid speaking. Instead, she seemed like she was trying to ignore it. “Me n’ Robbie played a game I made last night with my Littlest Pet Shops," she babbled, dipping a slice of apple into the caramel and taking a bite. "I won, it was so fun!"

“Well, of course you win when you’re the one making the rules,” Radford teased, ruffling Hope’s hair and causing her to squeal with laughter. “But I’m glad you guys had fun. Jack and I wish we could’ve been here to have fun with you.” He peered over his shoulder at Jack, who was still staring out the window at nothing, his coffee mug pressed firmly to his lips. “Didn’t we?”

Jack didn’t respond with words, only nodded - but while Radford didn’t accept the answer, Hope seemed to. “Maybe we can all play it sometime! Mister Jack coulda done a great job. It was a guessing game, n’ he’s a police like Daddy!”

Hope finished her breakfast and Radford took her dishes, since she was too little to reach the sink herself. He double-checked that she had everything in her bag, then sent her off when he saw the afternoon kindergarten line stopped in front of the house. They didn’t run a bus for the kindergarteners since their days were so short - lucky them. Radford’s neurodivergence hadn’t helped him sit through full school days; shorter days, especially in elementary, would have earned him way fewer behavioral infractions. 

As inattentive as he was back then, though, he had no more distractions from his worries now that Hope was out of the house. And Jack, try as he might, couldn’t give him any. “So,” he said, breaking the palpable silence, glaring daggers into Jack’s back. He didn’t want to believe that Jack had lied, but his flighty behavior so far wasn’t doing him any favors. “Be straight with me.”

The deputy’s shoulders slumped further, his reflection sad in the window as he fidgeted with his ring. “What do you want me to say?” he asked, looking over his shoulder, not a hint of his usual smile on his face. There was a dark circle from where he’d been holding his mug to his face; normally, Radford would be amused, but not this time. 

“I want you to tell me my friend is alive,” Radford blurted out, though what he really meant was ‘if’ instead of ‘that’. He quickly tried to correct himself to avoid another one of Jack’s pitying looks. “And even if he isn’t, even if he did die, why wouldn’t you tell me he was at the hospital?”

With an emptiness in his voice and his eyes, Jack replied, “I never said he wasn’t.”

“But you-” Radford groaned, about to tug on his hair before remembering there was nothing to tug. Instead, he picked at the chipping black polish on his fingernails, attempting to regulate his stress so he didn't scream at the deputy like he wanted to. “I mean, you let me assume that he was dead when you all found him up there.”

Jack placed his mug down at the kitchen table like he thought it might break and massaged his temples once both hands were free. “Radford, I didn’t find him." His voice was gentle in an almost cloying way that made Radford feel sick. “I was with you, remember? I’m not the one who found him.”

Radford crossed his arms in an attempt to summon even a fraction of Ignacio's fiery rage, although all he wanted to do was cry. Even now, he could feel the tears welling up and threatening to overflow. How did Ignacio do it? “But you never said he was in the hospital,” he said, failing to maintain an even tone.

Jack's brow furrowed in upset, and Radford could tell he was looking for an easy out to the conversation. “It wasn’t looking good," he explained, "so I didn’t think I would have to tell you.”

“That’s not your decision to make and you know it.”

“But I still made it.” Jack pursed his lips as he pondered what to say next. Finally, he continued, “Radford, look. There's no simple way to put it. He’s dead." Radford's stomach soured even more and he pressed a hand over it as if the gesture would keep him from throwing up. "He’s gone and in the ground. There’s nothing anyone could do.”

Radford swallowed down the lump in his throat. “Then show me the proof," he sneered, trying his hardest not to let his tears pour forth although it was getting exceedingly difficult. "Show me death certificates. Pictures. Proof that that’s him under that gravestone, from a funeral you didn’t even tell me about. ”

Jack hung his head. “Radford, it was closed to family."

“To his mother ?" Radford laughed at the sick humor of Streber's transphobic, homophobic mother being considered his 'family'. "His mother who hates the real him?” Jack opened his mouth to speak, but Radford shut him down, raising his voice even louder as he cornered the man in the kitchen. “Whether he died or not, you didn’t let me say goodbye to him. When his friends broke down his fucking door and found him laying there, he tried to say something to me. And because of you , because of that stupid hospital , because of Evermore and because of a fucking movie , I’ll never fucking get to hear it.”

“That’s enough,” Jack snapped at last as he rose to his full height, his brows knitting together. Radford faltered and fell back, and at the same time, Jack seemed to realize he was being a little too harsh. He spun his ring once, twice around his finger, like a silent plea for help, before continuing. “I understand where you’re coming from, but you aren’t the only one who lost something because of this thing . So I need you to work with me here so that doesn't happen to anyone else.”

“Then tell me what I need to know, because there’s something else going on here, Jack.” Radford jabbed an accusatory finger into Jack’s chest, his face red hot, his neck sweaty. “There’s something about all of this that you aren’t telling me.”

Jack didn’t reply, only returned to sipping his coffee with a rueful look, and to that, Radford shook his head in disgust. He couldn't believe Jack of all people was treating him this way; then again, he shouldn't have expected any different from a cop. He grabbed his keys and stomped towards the door, shoving his mismatched Converse on his bare feet.

As soon as he stepped out the front door, a news van flew past the house and down the street, going much faster than 25 miles per hour. He watched its path as he hopped inside his car, then sped after it, knowing that if Jack - or John, for that matter - could see him now, he'd be dead. Thank goodness they couldn't.

Eventually, after winding through a series of neighborhoods and streets that made it clear the person driving was from out of town, he found himself at Orion Scar’s house - or rather, Orion Scar’s street because the entire road was flooded with people. It was a mix of regular citizens as well as reporters and journalists. And when Radford parked and stepped out of the car, they were all yelling and screaming at the house, climbing up the gates and tumbling back down, throwing things. Some members of the crowd were definitely getting trampled while the lucky ones held picket signs, cameras, and microphones. 

Radford had to wonder ‘why now’. Was the media storm to keep everyone’s focus off of the recent murder? Or was there something more sinister going on? 

“Come on out, Scar!”

“I can’t get a picture of him!” 

“Murderer!”

What the hell? 

Temporary relief set in when Radford spotted familiar faces standing near the edge of the crowd: Jaune and her husband, Aaron. She and her family only lived a few streets away, so they had probably come to investigate the noise, and they looked just as confused as he was. He locked the car, not trusting the situation enough to leave it otherwise, then ran over. “What’s going on here?”

Jaune perked up when she heard his voice and turned around, while Aaron let go of her hand to sign a greeting. Even though he knew Aaron was hearing, just mute, Radford instinctively signed back, which earned him a small chuckle. “Oh, hey, Radford!”

“Hey, Jaune.” Radford smiled to be polite despite the raging hordes around them, then repeated his question. “What’s going on?”

“I’m not sure, but it sounds like Evermore held a conference earlier today at town hall, talking about his new ‘initiative’.” Jaune shaded her eyes as she stood on her tiptoes to look at the front of the house, and Aaron, noticing her plight, wrapped his arms around her midriff to lift her up a little. Aw . “Lila dropped in for a bit after taking her son to school, and he said something about how Orion Scar was the killer the first time?”

Radford's eyebrows flew up. “How would that even make sense?” After all, it had been publicly released that the killer had been killed. By Radford . “That’s just not true. He was a victim just like all of us.”

“Yeah, I know,” Jaune said, still squinting towards the house. “But these guys have definitely hopped on the bandwagon.” She gestured towards the egg yolks mottling the once pristine white stucco of Orion's home, proving her point.

Radford had heard of mass hysteria, but this was utter madness . Everyone seemed to be turning on one another, like they couldn’t trust each other anymore. Sure, it had been bad during the first wave of murders, but after their friendly neighborhood restaurateur was exposed to serve and eat long pork, it was even worse. Seeing specters where there were none was one thing, but the entire town had devolved into a witch hunt in the blink of an eye. 

Bidding Jaune and Aaron goodbye, he weaved through the crowd, careful not to step on anyone who already had been. God, he hoped they weren’t dead but the way they were lying still, eyes wide and staring, made Radford think otherwise. Towards the front of the mob was a mix of reporters and people carrying pro-Evermore signs and slogans. Several read “Stop leaving SCARS on our town!”, while others were less clever and more crude with their insults.

He sized up the gate: a tall, wrought iron one with an intercom. Sure he didn’t have much upper body strength, but after all he’d been through, he learned adrenaline could do crazy things. Before he could work up the nerve to climb it, though, he felt eyes on him and whipped around, the throng fading into a blur when he noticed familiar, mismatched, glaring hazel eyes. Dexter’s eyes. His gaze trailed down to find their hands in their pockets, although it looked like they were fishing around for something…

As his stomach ache took a turn for the worse, he knew he needed to get out of there. 

He leapt onto the gate and grabbed the bars, but slipped as he tried to scrabble upwards. Even more sickening was the fact that everyone on the ground was cheering him on, telling him to get in there and kill the bastard - again. He thought about asking them to give him a boost, but decided against it; they’d be angry if they helped him out and he didn’t come out with Orion’s head on a pike. He tried again to climb, but to no avail; he was only able to make it about halfway up, about to where the bars curved inwards. And when he looked over his shoulder, he saw that Dexter was only approaching faster.

Panic setting in, he tried the intercom, but it didn’t even light up. It was like it had been completely shut down - fair enough, people must have been screaming obscenities through it the whole day, but it was still frustrating. That was its one job, to let people in that needed to be in, and right now he very much needed to be within the protection of those gates. 

Speaking of, Dexter was directly below him now, still with that ominous look on their face. They withdrew their working hand from their pocket, hiding something in their palm that Radford could only assume was their knife. “Need some help with that?” they asked through the din. 

He was scared to even ask, but ended up doing so anyway. “How’re you supposed to help?” Dexter twisted their wrist - albeit awkwardly since it wasn’t their dominant one - and fanned their knife open. “You’re not actually gonna-” Radford’s hands trembled on the bars of the gate as the blade neared his ankles. 

Dexter shrugged, that same darkness in their eyes as they flipped the knife around a few more times. “You don’t know that,” they said nonchalantly. “Better start climbing.”

Just as the blade swiped at his ankles, Radford heaved himself up and over the gate to the amazement of the masses. He offered Dexter a nervous thumbs up, his ankles stinging from the sharp blade’s touch, and ran up the brick driveway to the star-turned-pariah’s home, ducking and narrowly avoiding getting egged himself. 

“Orion?” he yelled once he reached the door, knocking hard and pressing his ear to the wood. “Hey, can you open up? It’s Radford.”

Right as he was about to knock again, the door swung open. Big hands dragged him inside before slamming the door behind him. Radford leaned against the door to catch his breath while the crowd raged outside, chanting the same ridiculous bullshit over and over as they waved their signs. “What the hell's going on out there?” he finally asked, looking up at his savior.

Orion stood in front of him, clothed in a grey sweatshirt and black pants, the hood pulled over his shaved head. “Fucking Evermore,” he swore, folding his arms. “My manager said the guy made some choice announcements about me during this morning’s impromptu conference. Apparently, because of the negligent police presence, I ‘slipped through their fingers’ and am back to killing or something?” He separated the blinds with his fingers and peered outside. “He was supposed to be doing damage control out there. Talking to the press.” 

Radford chose not to mention that he hadn’t seen Orion’s manager out there, wondering if he was one of the people lying dead on the ground. “But I don’t get it,” Radford said, bringing the focus back to Evermore. After all, he didn't want to cause Orion more grief. “He’s the one who lifted the curfew and told everyone everything was safe, why doesn’t anyone see anything wrong with that?”

“There’s a reason he’s been mayor for so long.” His sentence was punctuated with a loud splat at the door. Orion jerked his chin towards the back of the house. “Here, c'mon. There’s less people out back.”

Not seeing much else to do, Radford followed the actor out of the foyer and through the massive house. The walls were covered in posters of the many films Orion starred in, all dressed up with fancy frames like they were treasured pieces of art. As he limped through, he noticed with a sigh of relief that the Box Cutter series was missing from his framed filmography.

Eventually, the pair reached the kitchen, and Orion reached into the fridge and withdrew a can of beer. “Want some?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder at Radford. 

“No thanks,” Radford joked half-heartedly as he twisted to look at his cut-up ankles. Blood soaked into his sock as well as the backs of both shoes. He should have known better than to call Dexter’s bluff, but in his defense he thought they were just trying to scare him! “Trying to quit.“

“So was I.” Orion pulled the tab of his can, shut the fridge door with his hip, and took a swig. “It’s hard to not drink now, though.”

“You had a drinking problem?” Radford raised an eyebrow at Orion, who shrugged. 

“I was trying to go sober for the press tour,” the movie star explained, swirling the beverage around in the can, "but then all this happened.

“Dude.” Radford watched, helpless, as Orion took another sip. He had to deal with John's nicotine addiction for years, so any kind of drug abuse reminded him of it. “Sorry, I feel like I’m enabling you.” 

“It’s okay,” Orion reassured him, though it didn't make him feel any better. The actor let out a long sigh and sat at his long kitchen table, definitely meant for celebrity friends - but now it just looked lonely. So, Radford pulled out a chair and sat next to him, trying to ignore the sticky wetness of blood in his socks. “I kind of envy Katie.”

Radford leaned his chin in his hand, his elbow growing cold on the tabletop. “Why’s that?” 

“She doesn’t have to deal with this.” Orion finished off the beer can and crushed it against the marble. “This town’s gone to shit, and I don’t even have my best friend with me to deal with it." Wow, did that sound familiar. "I just have my manager who keeps urging me to work on this documentary he’s trying to scrape together about the murders here.”

“Hey, I get it,” Radford replied, picking up Orion’s trash and looking for a place to dispose of it. When he found the trash can, it seemed it had two compartments. One for trash, one for recycling. Cool. He tossed it, then looked around the fridge for something to drink - he had been parched, but was trying to be polite. Hopefully he could find some ginger ale. His stomach was still upset from his earlier argument. “I miss my best friend too.” 

What Orion said next sounded more sad than he ever had; even in the many films he had to portray various degrees of it, Radford had never heard his voice more full of sorrow. “Were you in love with yours too?”

Almost buckling from the weight of the question, Radford gripped the cold ginger ale can in a shaky hand, the chill seeping into his fingers. His other hand lingered on the fridge handle to brace himself. He let out a long sigh. “Yeah,” he murmured after a moment as the sting in his eyes and heart overcame any of the pain in his ankles. “I think I was.”

He stood there, wistful as he settled with the finality of his confession, until he realized how dark the room had grown all of a sudden. Sure, there hadn’t been much light to begin with, as Orion had pulled the curtains down over all the windows to shut out the world. But the atmosphere itself - not just the room - had grown pitch black, almost foggy in a sense. The definition of a dark and stormy night, the beginning of all horror stories. No, no, not now . “Orion?” he asked, voice echoing strangely as he turned to look at the actor. A shadow had crept up behind him, long nails of their left hand drumming on his shoulder while their right clasped over his mouth. Orion’s eyes were shiny and wide as his hood was removed, and the shadow leaned over him, their tongue flicking out to lick up his neck. 

The ginger ale fell from Radford’s hand, clattering on the floor, and the silhouette’s head snapped up and towards him. A loud crackling echoed through the kitchen and suddenly, Radford was yanked backwards into that same field from his dreams. Except now, the sky was stormy, full of angry clouds shaped like anvils. His hair grew frizzy with static and humidity and he scrambled to get off the grass, but couldn’t, an invisible force pressing him down. 

“Hey!” he screamed, ripping his throat raw as he ripped at the grass. “Let me out, you asshole! You can’t keep me here!”

The nearby willow branches seemed to jeer at him as they blew in the wind because yes they could. The trees, the grass, the clouds…they absolutely could, and he knew it. And he was filled with terror when he realized there were no alarms, there was no one to wake him up, especially if they were killing Orion. Not to mention, he had no clue if they’d move on to him next. He'd keep having this dream until it killed him, wouldn't he...?

Just as he was about to give up, he felt hands shaking his shoulders, his body awakening and growing familiar with the hard tile of Orion Scar’s kitchen. He blinked open his eyes and shot up with a gasp, rubbing the back of his head which he felt should’ve had a lump from the impact against the floor. But there wasn’t a lump. There wasn’t even a tender spot, and that went for his ankles, too; he could feel the blood drying in his socks, but there was no wound. Orion sat in front of him, his savior the second time that day, a relieved look on his face as Radford regained consciousness. 

But Radford's respite quickly turned to terror when, as he fixed his crooked glasses and more of Orion came into view, he noticed the twin puncture wounds on his neck...

...bleeding nothing but static. 

Notes:

11/4/2024

aaand that's a wrap for part one! probably going to go on a short break, but don't hold me to that because these things never happen how i want them to. i love to write too much :)

i do want to address something about that, though. never ever do i want people to assume that the amount of time it takes for me to write a chapter takes away from the quality of it. i know most authors do not update this fast, but it's purely because i love to write that i do. i am not overworking myself or sacrificing the quality of my work to push out more. all of my chapters go through several rounds of editing before i put them out and i hope that shows through :)

additionally, please leave feedback if you have any! i love hearing you guys' thoughts on what's going on. even if i don't get around to responding or respond awkwardly, please know that any and all theorizing or rambling in general is accepted and appreciated. this also goes for fanart, as i've had numerous people ask if they can draw something from the au! all that i ask is that you either tag me or the fic (or, if you can't tag me, post a link in the comments) so i can see it. i'm on most platforms as celestivampz so if you look you'll probably find me :)

-nyx

Chapter 11: SCENE ELEVEN

Notes:

11/19/2024

i'm baaack with another chapter! been having a shitty chronically ill couple of days but thankfully, yk, i can pour that into my writing. as usual thanks to all my readers, i really appreciate you guys. i'm always so happy to hear your thoughts or see your art of this au, so please feel free to send em :)

with that, hope you enjoy this chapter!

UPDATE 11/23/2024

as i was preparing for the next chapter i realized that unfortunately i posted the wrong version of this chapter. my mistake (happens more often than i'd like). it's just something small that i didn't add but pretty please double check so the next chapter makes sense rip

-nyx

The faulty heater was the literal icing on the cake of the whole situation, freezing Radford to the marrow as he stepped on the gas. His wounds from the barbed fence stung from the blowing cold, but he couldn’t worry much about it as the car screamed into his elderly neighbor’s driveway and nearly ran over some snow-covered pots near the garage. Cats crawled from beneath the car next to his and peered at him in curiosity. 

Whether curiosity killed the cat or not, Radford hoped this trip would satisfy some of his questions. Since Jack wasn’t game to help, and everyone who could have had an answer was dead, maybe it was time to let go of his reservations toward Dexter. Hopefully, they were back from the mob around “Orion’s” - why had they been there in the first place, actually? How strange. 

He, along with a parade of cats, walked up to Michelle’s front door, wincing at the scrapes on his legs before giving a firm knock. The door swung open after a few seconds, and eighties music filtered into the quiet suburban afternoon.

“Hello?” Michelle asked, pushing her round glasses up her nose. Her face brightened when she saw Radford on the porch. “Oh, if it isn’t Mr. Hannigan! You’ve changed your hair.” 

Radford just knew she was only calling him “Mr.” as a jab towards his habit of calling her Miss, but it still made him wince. “Hi, Michelle. And yeah, I have.” He noticed movement behind her and spotted the kitten he’d given her a few weeks ago at her heels. “How is this guy?”

“Oh, Paolo?” Michelle scooped the purring kitten off the floor, cradling him in her arms. “He’s a much healthier weight. I’ll be taking him to the rescue soon, so I’m glad you stopped by before I did.” She then glanced up at Radford, gaze lingering on the bloody rips in his jeans. “But I know that’s not why you’re here, dear.”

Radford wished. “Um, I’m actually here to talk to Dexter.”

“Oh, so you’ve finally met my son?” The old woman tapped her chin with one wrinkled finger, then rolled up the sleeve of her cardigan to check her watch. “Well, I have not seen him. He said he needed to see a friend and would be out for a few hours, but you’re more than welcome to wait for him in his room.” 

Radford was about to reject the offer and instead come back later, but maybe he would learn some things from just poking around Dexter’s room. Then, he could run off with some excuse before they got back. It was the coward’s way out for sure, but it was better than waiting around just to be verbally torn apart later. He’d been torn apart too much today, both by them and by “Orion’s” fences. And by the notion that the silhouette’s modus operandi was becoming more familiar. So, he followed Michelle into the warm, small house, rubbing his arms as he soaked up the comfortable heat. 

It didn’t take long for him to notice a familiar figure seated on the Erotoph’s couch, black cassock covered with cat fur as he sipped from a dainty cup of tea. Father Gregor waved at Radford with a kind smile on his otherwise gaunt face. “It is good to see you again, Radford.”

Radford hoped he wasn’t intruding on their visit. “Good to see you, too, Father,” he replied as he waved back. Then, with Paolo still in her arms, Michelle ushered him down a hallway lined with cat condos and bookshelves, further away from the music that was only a mere echo now. The hall was almost like a maze, with so many cats and so much stuff that Radford ended up tripping more than once. Eventually, they made it to the end, and Michelle pushed open the very last door to what was definitely Dexter’s room, if the wet specimens and various taxidermied animals were anything to go by. Not to mention the stench of death and ammonia.

“So this is Dexter’s room,” Radford mused, giving it a once over. He wasn’t so excited about waiting there anymore. 

“You couldn’t tell?” Michelle chuckled, looking around the room and shaking her head. “He loves to work on his projects in here. If you need to, feel free to open a window while you wait - I know the smell may be a little much to you.” To him ? How could Dexter be around this miasma at all, much less sleep in it? How was Michelle not bothered by it? It seemed the question was written all over his face because the woman giggled before explaining, “We Erotophs don’t have the greatest noses.” 

Clearly , Radford wanted to say, but he held back and thanked Michelle for showing him the way. He gave the kitten in her arms a nice chin scratch before shutting the door and getting to work, the smile dropping from his face as he did. Before he could start looking, he had to filter out that awful smell. He opened both of Dexter’s bedroom windows, only leaving them a crack so it wouldn’t get cold in the room; he was still warming up from the trip in the car. 

He stepped up to Dexter’s workbench first. It seemed like a modified potting bench, numerous tools hanging from hooks on the backboard, as well as a familiar black paw keychain. The top shelf displayed a few jars of frogs and reptiles soaking in alcohol. One jar contained an eyeball from what Radford could only assume to be a cat, staring at him and nothing at the same time. A few others were oddly colored - diaphonized, he remembered Streber telling him at some point when he was bragging about Dexter’s work. On the bottom shelf, below the main workspace, were the materials they used. Together the bottles and jugs made such an odd odor that Radford didn’t linger down there for long, and instead looked at the white bin in front of him with a spine inside. 

To keep from being too creeped out, Radford moved on to the rest of the room, towards their desktop. On the surprisingly neat desk was a planner, and it seemed Dexter had been in the process of canceling appointments with their clients if the angry red x over every logged event was anything to go by. Man, so they really couldn’t do their work anymore - Radford had to wonder how they were getting their fix nowadays. Considering that eyeball he saw earlier, he had a few guesses.

He shook the mouse to their computer a few times, but only their login screen popped up, so he instead started flipping through the CDs they had stacked up in a few holders next to the desk. They had an interesting music taste; lots of it consisted of music from the seventies and eighties. There was a section towards the bottom of the last holder, though, that made Radford pause. The first case had nothing inside, but marked over the clear plastic was Streber’s name in all caps. He glanced at the computer tower under the former exterminator’s desk and pressed the “eject” button, and sure enough, the matching CD - no, DVD, he realized - popped out. He took the case out of the stack and reunited the DVD with it, then continued to flip through. Each subsequent case also had Streber’s name written in black permanent marker. Sort of chilling; it felt like serial killer torture tapes even though he knew it wasn’t true.

A few shelves around the room held books and movies, though a few were stacked on top as though they hadn’t been able to fit. Radford recognized those as being Streber’s, since he put a stripe of neon green duct tape on nearly everything he owned in case it was stolen. Dexter had to have known that, so why hadn’t they at least taken the tape off if they’d taken his stuff? There was even his boxed set of Buffy the Vampire Slayer amongst the items. Streber would have never willingly given that up. 

Pill bottles and sticky notes littered Dexter’s nightstand, and that was the least straightened-up part of the room, which was saying something. They knew how to keep a clean house, even if it did smell like death. He peered at one of the sticky notes, and the writing didn’t match the rest of Dexter’s writing that he’d seen. Instead it was fancy, flowery cursive. For a moment Radford thought it could have been Michelle’s, but when he spotted “Apartment 3D” and a different woman’s name and phone number, he grew even more confused. 

Before he could think about why Dexter would have Streber’s evil ex-neighbor’s information, there was a rap at the door, and he whipped around to see Michelle peeking her head in. He tried his hardest to make it look like he hadn’t been snooping. “Hello again,” she said, one hand steadying herself against the doorframe. “I just wanted to let you know Dexter just got home. He seems to be in a mood.” 

When weren’t they? Ugh, so much for leaving before they got back. “Uh, thanks,” Radford responded, sitting down on their bed which seemed…oddly hard. He must have sat on something. “I’ll be prepared.”

There was no way Michelle hadn’t noticed he’d been looking through their stuff, with the bittersweet expression she gave him. She pushed the door open wider and called over her shoulder. “Dexter, your ginger friend is here.”

“Thanks, Nanay,” came Dexter’s voice from the other side of the house, though they did sound rather annoyed as their clunky footsteps came closer. 

“I thought I told you to take your boots off before coming inside,” Michelle chided them, before looking back at Radford and whispering as if she was sharing a secret: “Over twenty years and he still doesn’t take off his shoes.”

Radford’s snickering trailed off when Dexter squeezed past their mom with a small ‘excuse me’ and folded their arms expectantly at Radford. “Why are you here?” Their mother cleared her throat at them, and they sighed and turned to kiss her on the cheek. She ruffled their hair, then cracked the door behind her when she left them alone, giving Radford a meaningful nod before she left.

“Do you know anything?” Radford blurted as soon as Dexter looked at him again. 

“I know you’re a massive dork,” Dexter grumbled as they shucked their shoes and sat next to him on the edge of their bed. “What do you mean by that?”

Radford scooted away, uncomfortable with their proximity. As he did, he dragged their quilt with him and uncovered what he’d been sitting on: more green duct tape zigzagging a stickered laptop. How in the world had they gotten so many of Streber’s things? “I mean, do you know anything about the current murder cases?” he asked. “You were at Orion’s for whatever reason, so you have to at least know something.” 

“Sorry, trying to quit.” Dexter nonchalantly plucked the laptop from the bed and tugged open their top nightstand drawer, placing the device inside. “I don’t want to get involved in this sort of shit anymore.” 

What a load of bullshit. “Then tell me if this sounds familiar,” Radford said, and they heaved a long-suffering sigh as they rolled their eyes. “The blood eagle, a Viking ritual against those who were-”

“ Alleged ,” Dexter cut him off, causing Radford to raise an eyebrow. “It was an alleged Viking ritual. Historians still aren’t sure if it was actually used or was just written about to make ‘em sound tough.” 

“Whatever!” Radford threw his hands up. “Point is. Blood eagle. Ribs and lungs out the back. Punishment for dishonor. There’s a killer who’s using this torture method on their victims as they suck their blood.”

Dexter blinked at Radford in disinterest, looking ready for him to leave. “So?”

“So…” Radford scrambled to find the right words, but he couldn’t think of any good ones that didn’t sound like outright begging. Then again, it wasn’t like he could lose any more dignity in front of Dexter since they already considered him to be below ground level. “So, help me! I mean, doesn’t that sound familiar to you?”

“Apparently it sounds familiar to you. So why don’t you figure it out on your own, since you love keeping things to yourself so much?” Dexter leaned back against their pillows, as if they were watching a comedy. 

For all Radford knew, that was how they saw him. A fool, a jester, a joke - but he wasn’t going to take it anymore. Not the guilt tripping nor the humiliation. Fuck the actual topic. “Oh, so it’s not okay when I do it, but when you steal Streber’s things-”

“Your darling deputy gave me most of it, actually,” Dexter interrupted yet again, their eyes narrowed, upper lip curled as they grew a bit more hostile. “Why? Streber was my friend too.” They noticed Radford about to speak up and laughed humorlessly. “I have never given one shit about who Streber hangs out with. But you and your constant need to put one over on me? It’s pathetic. There’s no other word for it and you need to stop. I thought you couldn’t get any worse after lying to me about his death, but now you’re accusing me of stealing his stuff?” 

Radford wanted to argue, but he knew they were right. The whole time, he’d known, but that didn't stop him. Why did he always do this? “Okay, look, I’m sorry,” he mumbled, shifting his attention to his knees and watching as the scrapes scabbed over. “You’re right. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you the truth. But people have been talking, and I just need to ask.”  

Dexter didn’t look like they wanted to let him speak, nor like they accepted his apology, but gestured for him to ask the question anyway.

So Radford steeled himself and sucked in a deep breath. As he did, the door creaked open a little wider, Paolo the kitten’s little head poking inside, his innocent face making the former feel a little better about asking. “Do you think that it’s any coincidence that, since the murders started, people have been theorizing that he's alive?” Radford blurted, finally putting his theory out into the open.

“‘People’ as in Ignacio?” Dexter snorted and shook their head. Radford didn't miss how their gaze remained rapt on the cat as it tread further into the room, how the fingers on their left hand dug into their thigh. “Get out.” 

Radford wasn’t sure whether they were telling him or the kitten, so he didn’t move from his spot. “Look, I know you were friends back when we were in high school, so you had to have known about Streber and I’s-”

Dexter whirled around, and if looks could kill Radford would surely be dead. “I mean it! Get out! Stop bothering my mother and stop making stupid conspiracy theories so you can feel better about your fuckups!” They placed their left hand on their useless, still bandaged wrist. “I don’t care about your divine vampirist rituals. Go ask a doctor if you care so much. But none of your problems are mine, not anymore.” 

Right as the kitten was about to leap onto Dexter’s bed, Radford scooped him up and left, tucking him away in his jacket without another word. Somehow he managed to calmly make his way down the maze of a hallway and through the living room without being noticed by Michelle and Gregor, who seemed to be in closer quarters than could be considered platonic, especially for a priest. Huh. Okay then.

He slipped out the front door, Paolo still hidden in his jacket. Surely with the amount of cats in the house, Michelle wouldn’t notice he was missing; still, he had no idea what to do now that he had the poor kitten who had been naive enough to wander into Dexter’s animal graveyard. He couldn’t leave him outside to suffer in the cold again, though, so he made a split second decision and decided to keep the cat, at least for the time being - no one but John was allergic to cats, and since he was still in the hospital, it’d probably be fine. 

Smelling something unrecognizable being cooked in the kitchen when he stepped through the door, he figured that Jack was once again not home and Robbie and Hope were feeding themselves with whatever they could scrounge up. He kept the cat, who was starting to squirm, hidden under his jacket and walked into the warm kitchen, the strong scent of onions and peppers assaulting his nose. Ew, but still better than what he’d endured earlier.

“Hey guys,” he said, watching Robbie frantically stirring around his pot of who knew what as Hope mashed some tomatoes with a fork. He assumed she was trying to cut them, but since she wasn’t allowed to use knives, she wasn’t doing the best job. “Whatcha making?” 

“We were trying to make jambalaya, but we kinda suck at it so now we’re just making whatever.” Robbie’s red face was covered in sweat from the heat, and Radford leaned over him to turn on the fan above the stove. “Thanks.”

“No prob, Rob.” Radford smiled at the two of them. Even with the weird odor in the kitchen, he was still happy to be back home and safe, away from Dexter’s anger and eerie excitement. “Sorry I wasn’t home sooner to help cook, but I got a surprise for you while I was out!”

Both Robbie and Hope perked up, the fork clanging on the plate as his little cousin dropped it. “A surprise?” she cheered, her mouth agape as she jumped up and down, pigtails swinging. “What is it, what is it!”

“You didn’t say anything about a surprise,” Robbie said, shaking one of his fists as he stirred the pot with the other. 

“Well, then it wouldn’t have been a surprise.” Radford knelt down slowly, careful not to jostle Paolo too much, and placed him on the ground. Hope squealed, and Robbie looked on with wide, disbelieving eyes. “Now, we can’t keep him forever. But we’ll go to the store tomorrow and pick up a little food, since I don’t know when your dad will be back from the hospital, Hope. We can figure out where to take him in the meantime.” After all, now that he knew Dexter lived with Michelle, he was never going to contribute to her cat family ever again.

Either way, Robbie and Hope didn’t seem to care, both of them neglecting their duties to pet the cat. Radford turned off the stove so the weird bootleg jambalaya mixture didn’t burn, and watched the two of them marvel over their temporary pet. As he did, he tucked his hands into the deep pockets of his father’s old jacket, fiddling with the paw keychain and the CD case, in which he’d tucked the strange sticky note from Dexter’s nightstand. 

Before Radford could zone out thinking about the clues he’d gathered, Hope looked up at him with an inquisitive expression. “You still don’t know when Daddy’ll be back?”

It had been a while since Jack or Patty had given any updates on his wellbeing. Even if Hope was too young to understand what had happened to her father, she still deserved to know. Still deserved to see him. Radford understood that too well, and it was growing more fishy how cagey the deputy seemed whenever anyone mentioned John's whereabouts. “I'm sorry."

“I wish Mister Jack would let me visit,” she mumbled, before burying her face into the cat’s dark, fluffy fur. Radford leaned down and kissed her head as the other objects he’d taken weighed heavy in his pockets, in his mind. 

“Me too,” he replied, unsure what other cold comfort he could give. It felt like he was talking to himself more than he was his cousin. Then again, how could they stop Radford from visiting and checking things out? He couldn't push the subject more to Hope, as he didn't want to bring the mood down more, but a plan began to formulate in his mind. “Me too.”

Chapter 12: SCENE TWELVE

In the rearview mirror, Radford thought he saw a shadow peering at him through the dense fog. However, when he backed the car up, illuminating invasive vines crawling up a streetlight, his nerves calmed and his gaze shifted towards the small bag of cat food in the back seat. 

Since both his brother and cousin were at school, he took the initiative to pick up some food for Paolo, as well as some enrichment items for the rats’ cage. He’d been careful about not letting the cat in his room, but even so, the rats seemed to know it was there and hadn’t been coming out as much. Yet another reason why Paolo’s stay could only be temporary. 

However, the pet store, even the strip mall parking lot was dead silent with only a few cars parked, only a few people walking around. As full of Christmas cheer as the town had been around Black Friday, there was almost none to be found now. No lights sparkled through the fog, and decorations that residents and businesses alike had painstakingly put up were rendered soulless. Radford cast a glance towards a huge sign announcing a Christmas Eve parade, Santa Claus’ jolly eyes only blank, cartoonish black holes.

As somber as he was, though, he still had one more errand to run before he’d (hopefully) make it on time to dinner. He’d thought a lot more about the hospital after what Dexter and Hope said and decided there wasn’t anyone who could stop him from going. Sure, Jack had advised him against seeing John due to his current state, but Radford wasn’t taking no for an answer anymore since to him, it felt like the hospital was the epicenter of these conspiracies. He cranked up the radio, not caring what was playing, moreso trying to feel something more than grey. 

Soon enough, the green lights of Eden Hospital cut through the fog, soon accompanied by streetlights, and Radford pulled into one of the closest parking spots to the front door. He noticed a police car out front, though, and hoped that it didn’t belong to Jack. At least after everything he knew he was still a fast runner; being the fastest kid in fifth grade had counted for something. 

Bracing himself for any possible outcome, he walked through the sliding glass doors just to find the lobby empty. No one waiting around to get checked out, no one at the front desk, no one being rushed to the emergency room, and Radford didn’t know whether it was good that it was a slow day or not. In any case, he kept walking, trying his hardest to keep his Converse from squeaking on the shiny linoleum. 

Shockingly, it took more than a few minutes to come across another person - someone who just so happened to be coming out of John’s room. He seemed older, his silver hair slicked out of his face as he walked with an air of haughty importance. So not a nurse, definitely a doctor - Dr. Vivifico ? He cast off his mask and tucked it in his pocket, revealing an impressive mustache. He may have been balding, but his upper lip sure wasn’t. 

Instead of calling out to Mort, Radford ducked into an open doorway, tracking the doctor’s path with his eyes. Before he could remind himself why he was there, he took off after him, sticking close to the walls and making a face at the cameras that were watching his every move. He rounded another corner and watched as Mort slipped through the heavy door labeled “MORGUE”. Since Radford was there to talk to Patty as well, he waited a few moments and snuck over, peeking through the singular window inside. It was a little blurry, the window condensed from the temperature difference between the hallway and the morgue, but Radford could get the gist of what was going on. 

There were three figures in the center of the room: one was definitely Mort, the other Patty, and the other was a stout, older man wearing a yellow shirt. Evermore’s legal assistant, maybe, but no Evermore. Patty seemed like she was trying to go back to work, fussing with a body (Ignacio’s, given the small size) as she was talked at, mainly by Mort. Garcia, the assistant, lifted up the corner of a sheet covering a different body and winced in disgust once he saw beneath it, letting it drop again. 

Interested in what Mort was talking about, Radford cracked the door, propping it with the rubber toe of his shoe just enough so sound could filter into the empty hall. 

“Your work has been cause for concern lately, Azure,” Mort said as he stood in front of Patty, blocking her from her work. Neither of them paid any attention to Garcia, who was acting like a tourist, poking and prodding random items around the room. “You have practically barricaded yourself in here for weeks, surrounded by bodies of both killers, but have little to no answers about who committed these crimes. Any notes you have provided to the authorities have been useless.”

“It’s hard when there’s a new body a day,” Patty shot back, backing away from Mort to regain her personal space. “And don’t forget, I had to vet all of Velseb’s victims, too - they needed identification.” 

“We already knew it was Velseb. I told you, you didn’t have to-”

Patty glared at him, eyes narrowed to slits as she folded her arms. “Don’t pull that. This is my morgue, not yours. And you,” she said, whipping to look at Garcia, who had picked up some forceps and was now looking at her like a deer in headlights, “this isn’t a playground. Those instruments are sterile and you aren’t wearing gloves.”

Garcia dropped the instrument and apologized, although it was muffled. 

Patty rolled her eyes and adjusted her gloves. “Now can both of you just explain why you’re here? You’re complaining that I’m not doing my job, but here you are distracting me.” 

Radford leaned his ear closer to the door in order to hear the answers better, but was interrupted by the sound of footsteps coming down the hallway. He froze, as if whoever it was wouldn’t be able to see him, and slowly turned his head to find Jack, eyebrows raised in surprise. Of course he was there, Radford grumbled to himself as he chewed on his nails, hoping that he caught Jack in whatever mood would make this easier on himself. And it seemed he had, because after exchanging a glance, Jack crept past the door and stood on the other side to listen in with him.

Relief washed over Radford as he offered Jack a little smile, but it was short lived when he remembered he had to listen to the conversation in the morgue or it would look like he was just spying for no reason. 

“Well, Ms. Azure, you know why I’m here, and they say not to shoot the messenger,” Garcia’s voice continued with a lighthearted chuckle, and Radford peered through the window to find Mort and Garcia now standing between Patty and Ignacio’s body, their backs to the door. “Despite you being the primary doctor in this department, Mayor Evermore has requested that for the sake of saving time, Dr. Vivifico will be taking over this case.” Patty tried to interrupt, but Garcia spoke over her. “Any attempts of yours to continue may result in disciplinary action by Eden Hospital, or depending on the severity of your insubordination, an arrest, as it would be considered interfering in a criminal investigation.” 

“Mort is hardly qualified to take over,” Patty spat, gesturing around the morgue, at the impressive certificates framed on her wall. “I have the proper training and education for this. Maybe it’s ‘slow’, but I know how to do this the right way - and I’m getting answers.” 

“I understand the upset, ma’am,” Garcia responded calmly, “but this transfer has specifically been called on by Evermore. And to be quite honest, your methods are too slow. Do you truly feel you’re doing the best you can while you’re getting, quote, ‘a body a day’?” Patty tried to speak again, but for the umpteenth time, she was cut off. “Someone who is good at a job is able to get it done and provide answers quickly. If you were truly doing a good job, both killers would have been caught before they spread their carnage all throughout town.” 

Great - more of that “anti-crime initiative” Ignacio was talking about. And now Evermore was casting blame at Patty, whose work was, by definition, meant to be slow, careful, and methodical. Radford was baffled that they wanted someone to speed through something like that, especially someone unqualified! He looked at Jack, whose gaze was downcast, and could tell he was thinking the same thing, so he opened the door just a little wider in order to hear better. Unfortunately, it made a little creak, which caused Patty to look at the door. Her eyes narrowed a hint before she went back to talking, picking up a file folder and reading it off louder than before, like she wanted Radford and Jack to hear her. 

“Then explain to me what the cause of death is,” she said, pacing as she read her notes. “Was it their lungs being ripped out of their backs, or was it their blood being drained? And what about the clear hesitation in every single brutal mark on their bodies. This person didn’t want to kill these people, so why did they do it so brutally?” She slammed the folder down again. “It’s a ritual. It’s something they have to do, because if they don’t, the kill doesn’t ‘count’ to them. Is that enough of an answer for you, Mort, or do you need Garcia’s legal jargon to understand it?”

Mort’s shoulders stiffened, and Garcia cleared his throat, bringing a hand up to push his tiny glasses up his nose. It was silent in the room for a long time, to the point Radford could only hear his and Jack’s breathing and the hum of the mortuary coolers. 

Finally, Mort cleared his throat. “Get out of here, Azure.” 

There was a loud groan, and Radford leaned out of the doorway just in time for it to slam open. Seething, Patty ripped off her gloves and her mask and discarded them, before grabbing both Radford and Jack’s arms. Without a single word, the forensic pathologist marched them through the hospital and towards the locker rooms. Once they got there, she locked the door, opened her locker, and began to remove her disposable hijab at which both Radford and Jack turned around. 

“Can you believe this?!” Patty started, her voice echoing through the room, bouncing off the tile floors. In the three or four years since they’d met, Radford had never seen her this upset. “I’ve been working so hard to try and figure out this case for these people, and this is how they thank me.”

“Well…” Jack seemed unsure what to say, his gaze flitting to Radford as if he could help. “You weren’t fired, at least?”

Patty scoffed. “Jack, this is the only real work I’ve had in a while,” she explained, and Radford heard the soft thump of clothes hitting the floor. If she was changing out of her scrubs, did that mean she was just leaving mid-shift? “There aren’t that many murders here, just…disappeared people.”

Her voice softened at the tail end of her sentence; she must have remembered that Radford’s parents were part of that group. He noticed his fingers pushing into his hair, about to tug, and pivoted to adjust his ponytail holder instead. 

“That’s all to say, I may as well be fired.” She let out a long sigh, which was followed by the metallic slam of a locker door. “You can turn around.”

Radford turned around, finding Patty dressed in a long sleeve shirt, a large band shirt pulled overtop of it, and a different hijab. Despite the change in clothing, there wasn’t a change in her expression. “So,” he started, shifting from foot to foot. “Are you just…not going to work here anymore?”

Patty offered him a little shrug and went to a nearby sink to wash and dry her hands, careful to clean all the nooks and crannies between her fingers. “I’m sure you’ve noticed, but Evermore’s getting rid of everyone that would actually solve this case and is replacing them with his government goon squad.” She jerked her thumb at Jack. “That’s why he’s been working so hard lately. He doesn’t want to get sacked, or demoted like I basically was.” 

Looking at Jack in his peripheral vision, he could see the man looked absolutely dejected. As angry as Radford had been at him over his deceit, he was starting to understand the bigger picture. Was that why Jack hadn’t told him about Streber, or why he wasn’t being upfront about John’s current state? “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, fidgeting with his curls as he watched Jack do the same with his ring. God, he was selfish. Stupid even, he thought, as he started to pull. “I’m really, really-”

But Patty didn’t let him finish his apology, pinching the bridge of her nose after tossing her paper towel into the trash. “Save your sympathy for later,” she sniffed. “I’m sorry too, but Jack, you need to do something about this. While you’re still the sheriff.” Jack’s hackles went up; Radford could tell as he started to spin his ring faster. “You know what they’re doing with John to keep him quiet and you know what they’re going to start doing with his family. Are you really going to just sit there and let them do that?”

“What are they doing to John?” Radford asked, reeling from all this information. It was almost impossible to keep up with all of it to the point it was making him queasy. He turned to Jack, who was avoiding both of their gazes, his lips pursed. “What is she talking about?”

Shock passed over Patty’s face, and she spoke to Jack with clenched teeth. “You haven’t even told his family?” The deputy shook his head, and Patty sucked in a deep, angry breath before turning to Radford. “John’s been in a medically-induced coma.” 

“ What?! ” A coma ? That couldn’t be true, but when Radford twisted around to look at Jack, he’d only lowered his head more. “Why?!”

“My guess? They know they can control Jack, but they know John wouldn’t stand for this.” Patty put her hands on her hips, a deeper frown etched into her freckled face. “They know he’d argue against Evermore and tell the truth, just like Ignacio did. Of course, now Ignacio’s dead, and no one else is going to want to be mayor if Evermore gets taken down, too. Or if his pride ruins him, whichever comes first.”

Jack, who had been quiet now for a long time, spoke up, his voice in a croak. “I didn’t want to put John in any more danger,” he murmured, his ring glinting in the fluorescent lights. “His life is already in their hands. If I step out of line, they could pull the plug on him, and he’s already gotten hurt once because I’ve been careless. I don’t want anything else to happen to him.” Finally, he met Radford’s gaze, his brown eyes shiny with tears. “Or to his family.”

As conflicted as Radford felt about it, he understood at least a little better than he had before. And against all odds, he felt awful for how he’d spoken to Jack lately. God, he’d gotten so mad at him the other day, threatening him to tell the truth. He of all people should have known that sometimes there were good reasons to keep secrets, good reasons to keep things hidden and private. But speaking of secrets, there was still one question gnawing at him, and he hoped at least one of them would be able to answer it. 

“So,” he asked, afraid of what the answer might be, “is Streber still here?”

Patty closed her eyes, her lips tightening as she bowed her head. Radford almost told her not to say anything, but in his heart he knew he needed to hear it. “He was alive,” she said, tone softer than he’d heard from her in a while. “He was recovering. Jack can vouch for it, he brought him flowers. Orchids. It was remarkable how well he was doing, especially given how critical his condition was.” She shook her head. “But that just shows you how fast these things happen. He was recovering one day, and the next…he was laid out across my table.”

No tears fell down Radford’s face, but because of how shaky his legs were, he fell back against the cool metal lockers. He’d mourned Streber too much to cry anymore tears, but at the same time, he didn’t want to move from his spot, didn’t want to take another step knowing that Streber couldn’t. The lights above them seemed to flash in his eyes, too bright all of a sudden as he strived to breathe.

Before he could spiral, a heavy hand cut through the daze. Jack leaned into his sightline, blocking out the overhead lights. “Do you want me to take you home?” he asked, a somber smile on his face. Radford nodded, his head feeling so heavy that he wouldn’t be surprised if it fell off. “Do you guys have anything to eat for supper? We can pick something up on the way.”

Ugh, supper. Radford had lost all track of time - this visit to the hospital was supposed to be short , and now Robbie and Hope were probably eating who knew what. “Can we pick something up?”

“Sure,” Jack said, leading Radford out of the locker room while Patty bid them a worried look and a goodbye. “Do you have anything in mind?”

…

“It’s a split pizza.”

Radford set the closed Crust Corner pizza box on the kitchen table as his brother grabbed three paper plates from the cabinet. Only three; Jack had to get back to work, after all. As they set the table for dinner, Paolo was already in the corner, chowing down on his own. Jack had raised an eyebrow at the cat food when Radford took it into the police car, but didn’t say anything. 

Robbie stared at the pizza box with eyes wide as silver dollars, a wide smile stretching across his face. “We haven’t had pizza in forever,” he said. He placed the three plates on the table in a triangle formation, but he seemed to falter when he noticed the small carryout box stacked on top of the pizza - garlic knots. While they had never been a necessity before, Radford knew from now on he’d never be able to order pizza without them. “Are you sure you’ll be okay? The last time we-”

Radford knew what he was about to say and forced a smile, ruffling Robbie’s hair as he did. “It’ll be okay, Rob,” he insisted. He couldn’t believe he’d projected his worry onto his brother - Robbie was too young to feel so much turmoil over something simple like a pizza. Besides, this was a pizza of celebration and of remembrance. “It’s for you. I didn’t really have time to fix you guys anything tonight.”

 Robbie waved him away. “You know Hope and I can-”

“And I’m just…sorry in general,” Radford continued, before Robbie could try and make him feel any better about himself. “I know I haven’t been around much, and when I have been, I haven’t been…well, around. I’m going to try to be better from now on, okay? There’s just a few more things I have to do first, and the first thing is to celebrate your birthday.”

There was a moment where Robbie just looked confused, maybe a bit overwhelmed, before he closed the gap between them and wrapped his arms around Radford in a tight, loving hug. And Radford hugged him back, keeping him close as Robbie mumbled into his shirt that he understood. But there was no way he could - and he shouldn’t. He shouldn’t ever have to bear any of the crosses Radford had since Halloween. 

Eventually, Hope skipped into the kitchen and sat down in her seat, and the brothers took their seats as well, Radford’s near the window. The scent of warm pizza and fresh garlic filled the room as the boxes were opened, but there were no dangerous surprises inside. Just delicious food. Steam from the open box fogged up the window and Radford, who had the tendency to look outside as he ate, used the sleeve of his jacket to wipe it away - just as a shadow ducked away from the window, like someone had been watching them.  

He sucked in a deep breath to reassure himself. The doors were locked. The windows were shut. It could have been a trick of the light, or his own reflection. If there had been someone outside, they would never be able to make it in. Not this time. 

So, just for tonight, he turned from the dark window and served himself a slice, finding solace in the light.

Notes:

11/24/2024

happy birthday, robbie.

as a side note, i really hated having to do the page break - i try my hardest to not have to use those. not that they’re bad, but i prefer my chapters to seem connected rather than broken into pieces-parts, if that makes sense. however, this was important to put at the end, rather than part of its own chapter, and this seemed like the best way to do it. the page break was more affective than anything else i could come up with.

the biggest thing in this chapter is cold vs warmth. i hope that comes across.

-nyx

Chapter 13: SCENE THIRTEEN

Notes:

12/20/2024

long time no see. i wrote most of the chapter a while ago but didn't really like it, but now i think i edited it to a point where i do like it. however, i didn't double check before i posted it because i didn't want to get hung up on anything, so let me know if there's any glaring issues.

that said: hope you enjoy, like usual.

-nyx

Radford had never been one to want his name in lights. 

Many dream to be stars, but he only wanted to capture them. He strived to learn how to make the films he saved ticket stubs of. It had been a dream passed down from his father, along with the old video camera that now sat proudly on Radford’s shelf. It had been a dream acquired from all those hours he spent in front of the television or in theaters, not just watching but experiencing these movies. His eyesight had always been flawed, having been prescribed thick glasses since he was four years old, but what he lacked in vision he made up for in creativity. 

All he needed was just one of those stars to come down from the sky and be his muse. 

“Geez, Kevin. Did you keep every single copy I burned for you?”

As he flipped through the massive disc carrier, Radford was shocked by the number of DVDs Kevin had of his and Streber’s short films. He glanced up, giving Kevin a knowing look, and found the rest of the room’s occupants doing the same thing, Leon with a smirk and Blaz with a chuckle. 

Kevin just rolled his eyes and snatched back the carrier. “You said you wanted all the stuff I could find.” The case closed with a harsh zip , and he shoved it over to the growing stack of short films with a sour expression. Although Radford chuckled, he couldn’t help the small twinge of jealousy.

“Awww, it’s okay,” Leon said as he tousled Kevin’s hair. “We’re just impressed your collection’s so big, Kev.”

“And necessary, too,” Radford added as he repressed his feelings. He’d been doing it all day, so what was a little more? After all, the whole reason they were gathering the hard copies was because shortly after graduation, the laptop all of his short films thrived on stopped working. Even though he’d tried, Streber hadn’t been able to salvage everything from the hard drive. And if they were going to do this memorial, Radford needed every copy he could get, which was why Streber’s other friends had dropped by. And why there was no time to feel any sort of way about it.

Kevin huffed and looked in the mirror to fix his hair, trying desperately to hide the blonde roots Leon exposed. His wasn’t the only large donation that had been useful. A little while ago, Aria and Liv had come through with a huge binder’s worth of scripts and notes that eventually became Streber and Radford’s magnum opus: Us Within the Mirror , the play Streber submitted to the drama club all those years ago. It had been raunchy, it had been violent, it had been everything the school suspended him for - but it also made one hell of an independent short film. 

After waving goodbye to Leon and Blaz as they left, Radford turned his attention back to the doodles in the notebook he was flipping through. He recognized his own curly mop in the pen lines, even saw some of his handwriting in the margins - likely from when they passed notes during class. There were some from Kevin and Rick, too, though most from Rick were just bored scribbled statements for them to shut up and the ones that weren’t were tic tac toe games.

Oh, Rick. Radford sometimes wondered why his death hadn’t impacted him as hard. Maybe he’d just gone numb after everything. 

Robbie, who’d been in the kitchen eating lunch, skipped through the door, socks skidding across the hard floor. “Whatcha lookin’ at?” he asked as he came up behind the couch and peered over Radford’s shoulder. 

“Just some old stuff.” Radford did a double take, noticing the greasy slice of leftover pizza in his hand - and how it was dripping onto the floor. “Geez, get a plate for that, dude. You know better than that.” 

Robbie crammed the rest of the pizza in his mouth with a sheepish shrug before wiping his fingers on his jacket, creating yet another stain that would never come out. Radford sighed, knowing Robbie would still want him to try anyway. “So what’s all this for?” the teenager asked, jumping over the back of the couch to sit between him and Kevin. 

Kevin eyed Robbie warily as he sorted through the discs. “Depends, were you and your friends the ones who stole that candy the other day?” Robbie’s mouth hardened into a line and his gaze drifted away. “Guessing that’s a yes.”

As his brother and friend bickered, Radford turned his attention back to Streber’s notebook. Notes upon notes about the plot, doodles of the characters. While Streber had starred in the play as the main character, there were numerous other roles - the main character’s love interest, and the seven ‘villains’ the main character had to slay. The final short film version had been far from a one man band, with several of Streber’s friends pitching in to play the villains. They’d even gotten Rick, ever unenthusiastic, to play a part, Radford remembered with a chuckle. It was almost like the role had been crafted with him in mind. 

And since the love interest was hardly ever on screen save for a short dream sequence, Streber cast Radford himself in that role. He remembered being unsure what Streber was trying to say with that, and now, perusing the notebook, he finally understood. It wasn’t a story of a sun and a moon, it was the story of a sun and a black hole. And Streber needed someone who embodied the sun, right down to his fiery ginger hair, to compliment his dark vampiric exterior.

As he read further, though, his theory began to solidify in his mind. It was something he thought about the moment he saw the puncture wounds in Orion’s neck, the moment he scrambled out the backdoor of the actor’s home and took a peek in the back shed to see a clipshow of his life… 

“Salem,” Radford said, tapping the page hard with his index and leaving a dent behind. 

Kevin and Robbie halted their argument, with the latter asking, “Salem?” 

“The vampire character Streber made.” He handed Kevin the notebook, which was open to a spread of character notes about Salem. “On Black Friday, I got hiii-” he froze up, remembering his brother was there and didn’t need to know he had basically gone on a bender, and tried to save it. “-ungry. I got hungry, popped myself some popcorn, and watched a few of the movies we made together with my projector. Salem was in a lot of them.” And Radford didn’t know whether it was the drugs that made it feel like the character popped off the wall he was projected onto, but the more he thought about Salem, the clearer his memories grew, like wiping condensation from glass. 

Robbie didn’t seem convinced by the ‘hungry’ thing, like he was rolling back through the events of Black Friday and trying to remember whether he’d made popcorn or not. “Okay?” the teen asked, cocking his head. “So what?”

So what? “So, um…” Radford was about to continue when he realized who he was around - and how they were both looking at him. This was Kevin, who said he was blaming the paranormal on what he couldn’t handle himself. This was Robbie, his little brother, who he promised he’d be ‘all there’ for and had promptly broken that promise. “I was just thinking, since he was a big part of Streber’s ‘inner world’ so to speak, if he should have his own special segment in the memorial?”

In tandem, the three of them looked at the spread, at Streber’s messy, loopy handwriting and the ink smears across the page from whenever he wrote with his left hand. “You really think this is the best way to remember him?” Kevin asked, tilting his head in confusion. “I mean, it is just a character-” 

“I dunno, he kind of has a point,” Robbie cut in before Radford managed to. With one hand, he fiddled with the zipper of his jacket while he swept the other at the pile of paraphernalia on the table. “Clearly the guy was a big part of Streber’s life. It’s like how when an actor or writer dies, they’re immortalized by what they made instead of who they were, you know?”

Maybe it was because he wasn’t as creative, but Kevin still didn’t seem to understand - Radford could tell by the way his nose wrinkled up. “But that’s by people who didn’t know them. We knew Streber, so wouldn’t it be disrespectful?” He rubbed his arms, flattening the hair prickled with upset. “I mean…I don’t know, guys.”

“Streber put everything into this character, though,” Radford pointed out, thinking about just how deep Streber had gotten into Salem in high school. It was all he talked about, all he wrote about. He’d grown out of that phase, but the raw emotion he’d put into the project was still there. “I think he used it to say things he couldn’t say himself. Salem was someone he could project onto.” 

Robbie gained a strange look on his face, his brows knitting together as he twiddled his thumbs. Radford nodded for him to go ahead and speak; he didn’t want an echo chamber, but he also wanted reassurance that he hadn’t completely lost his mind. And he didn’t think Kevin would give him that. “I was just thinking,” the boy mumbled, tapping his fist against his palm. “Remember when you told me that story? About how every time someone’s filmed, the camera captures a little bit of their soul?”

If that hadn’t hit the nail right on the head. Radford felt a chill go down his spine; it had been a theory he held close, especially since his talk with Ignacio. Noticing the disappointed confusion on Kevin’s face, he explained, bouncing in his seat. “Okay, so every time our image is recorded, we have a sort of digital doppelganger. An identical copy.” The off-duty candy clerk checked his watch, as if counting down the hours till he could leave the loony bin and go to work. However, Radford was too excited to feel offended. “It seals those memories to enjoy another day, but it’s also different if you look without context. They’re imperfect reflections, kind of like how dreams are imperfect reflections of reality.”

Kevin didn’t look convinced in any sense of the term. “Where are you going with this?” he asked.

“I know you don’t believe in the projector people,” Radford said. Kevin grunted in agreement, his arms folded over his chest as they trembled ever so slightly, while Robbie seemed to hang onto Radford’s every word. “But what if this is it? What if that’s what I’ve been missing? Images record memories, and memories are how we keep people we love alive.” Just like Aria said . And yet, he’d rejected the notion for being cheesy. Stupid. “Orion Scar, the one that’s being hounded by paparazzi but isn’t showing up in a single photo? He’s a projection. I saw a clipshow of his life playing in his back shed. And the Box Cutter was a projection too - someone left his projector on in the theater and all we had to do the whole time was turn it off.”

Kevin’s mouth twitched. “If you’re right about the projections being real people because of ‘captured souls’ or whatever, then why wouldn’t every movie in theaters come to life?”

“Orion said something about having a drinking problem, so what if he died from alcohol poisoning?” His entire body trembled, his teeth chattered - he couldn’t tell if it was cold in the house, or if he was so excited he couldn’t sit still at all. “What if the ‘projection’ only works for people who are dead? Like a ghost that only exists within the context of what the projection plays? When Orion’s ‘soul’ was projected through that lens, it manifested into the Box Cutter. Same with the clipshow his manager had playing in his back shed. And same with Streber, except he’s being projected as…”

“...Salem,” finished Robbie, his eyes sparkling with mirth the more Radford explained. 

Radford nodded, and his fingers tap-tap-tapped at the page. “It has to be him,” he insisted, before listing off some of the qualities Streber jotted in the notebook, dragging his fingers along them as he read. “In Us Within the Mirror , Salem’s on a mission to kill the seven deadly sins in order to purge them from himself and get his soul back. You remember that? Rick’s Sloth ‘performance’?”

“Yeah, I remember.” Kevin chuckled, uneasy. 

“Salem was a vampire who wanted his soul back in order to see himself in the mirror with his human boyfriend, Pierre. But as he executed each sin, there was always a little hesitation, because he wasn’t sure if Pierre would love him anymore after hearing what he did for them to be together. Even if the people he was killing were bad, he had trouble doing so.” And Patty had said each kill showed hesitation whilst also being ritualistic, something the killer ‘had’ to do. More proof in Radford’s book. “He possessed psychic powers that allowed him more ease of seeing people’s true desires and their sins, which was how he located them anyways.” Hence the weird dreams that he’d had, and that Susie had mentioned having on Robbie’s birthday. 

“How did it end?” his brother asked, his chin in his hand as he leaned against the armrest.

“Pierre was slain by Pride,” Radford said, squinting at the cramped handwriting towards the bottom of the page. “Salem killed Pride in an act of vengeance, and soon after, his soul was restored. But without Pierre, his reflection once again stood alone in the mirror. It was a pretty sad ending.”

“Salem and Pierre,” Robbie mused. “A witch and his pyre, how romantic.”

Huh, Radford had never thought about it like that; it added an extra layer of tragedy to it. Salem had chosen his own name as a representation of how he’d been persecuted and ousted from society, just for him to destroy the one thing connecting him back to it. He cleared his throat, not wanting to dwell on that too much. “So if we’re right, do you think he’s been killing based on what ‘sin’ his victims embody? It was just a coincidence that Rick was already Sloth in the film, but…”

“Well, let’s go through who’s already died, then.” Kevin rubbed the little bit of stubble on his chin. “Bob, Rick, Ignacio…”

Although he was interested in figuring out the victimology, Radford had stopped going to church a while ago and even then never paid attention. He wasn’t sure if he felt comfortable designating ‘sins’ to people he knew - especially when it came to Orion, who had been a mistake he wasn’t willing to discuss - but sparing a glance at the coffee table, he noticed the pamphlet Gregor had given him days prior collecting dust there. “I know who might be able to help.” He turned back to Robbie and Kevin, who were exchanging confused looks. “But for right now, I think we’ve got what we need. It’s pretty clear to me that this is Salem. ”

Kevin nodded, somber. “That’s true,” he mused, “but I mean, the thing is…we’re all sinners, right? So how do we know none of us are going to be targeted?”

Radford wanted to provide some sort of comfort, but he couldn’t - not really. If Salem had apparently made a mistake with Orion, there was no telling what other mistakes he could make. “I’m not sure,” he said, lips pursing in thought. He’d been in the room with Salem, who had only lulled him to sleep - and had possibly even healed his wounds with it. But just because he hadn’t been a target then didn’t mean he would never be.

A look of panic shot across Kevin’s face and his entire body stiffened. “What do you mean?” he asked, voice cracking into a near falsetto register. “What do you think are my worst qualities, then?”

“No, no, we’re not doing all that.” Radford nudged the clerk with his elbow, trying to be reassuring. From the expression on his face, though, it had kind of hurt. “Look, at least now that we know what’s going on, we can stay one step ahead-”

He was interrupted by the sound of shattering glass. 

It had come from right in front of them, but Radford was so wired that before any shards managed to slice into their skin and make homes there, he managed to pull Robbie’s face into his chest. His nerves buzzed with every emotion at once - confusion, surprise, shock, fear. Everything. Too much of everything and it made his head spin. 

Kevin remained silent, but Radford could feel him quaking next to them, trembling like a leaf in the cold wind pouring through the shattered window. There was a cracking sound then, like someone taking uneven steps inside and onto the shattered glass. The sound of heavy breathing that made Radford’s senses ping out of control, the sound that warned him he needed to turn around now.

Though Robbie’s face remained in his chest, Radford slowly turned around, coming face to face with a familiar mask - one that he hadn’t been expecting - that sent a thrill down his spine, the horrible, drawn smile too close for comfort. Too close to escape, not this time. He stared at the mask with wide eyes, hugging Robbie tighter to himself as he heard the familiar click of the blade being drawn with their left hand. 

But they didn’t stab him, only loomed over him like they were about to. They seemed to be taking him in, admiring the terror on his face as they decided his fate - but Radford wasn’t sure why, after all this, they wouldn’t just stab him. He had to wonder - did projections retain memories of the last times they were summoned? 

He noticed Kevin out of the corner of his eye, reaching for a pair of scissors on the coffee table almost in slow motion. And as he did, the lights dimmed, leaving only a patch of sunlight filtering in through the broken window, the broken glass sparkling on the floor like the surface of a frozen lake. Leaving the entire room draped in silence and cold and shadow. 

“What are you waiting for?” Radford asked as he stared into the empty eyeholes of the mask, trying not to show the real, unbridled terror he was feeling on his face. Not just for  himself, but for Robbie, for Kevin, for Streber’s memory. “Are you going to monologue to me like you did last time?”

“No,” the slasher mumbled, as if they were trying not to speak too loud - strange, given how they’d behaved in the theater all those weeks ago. Even through the dark, Radford could see the blade glinting at him, talking to him, telling him how he was about to die. The Box Cutter chuckled raspily, the same sound that had haunted Radford for weeks, and the blade dangled dangerously close to his pulse which was pounding out of control. “No, I’m just going to relish doing this.”

Chapter 14: SCENE FOURTEEN

Despite everything, he didn’t worry about how it would feel when his throat was cut, nor did he worry about what would happen after. He didn’t worry about how, for once, Robbie’s hair would bleed the same color as his. He didn’t even worry about the pair of scissors drawing nearer to the villain’s leg. 

No, all Radford could wonder about was why the Box Cutter didn’t look so evil. The more he looked, the more he noticed the lack of it within the eyeholes, that dreadful glowing eye missing from the ensemble. The blade which seemed too long glinted, but the eye did not. It was only rendered a dark void within a cardboard skull. 

And then it all fell away as the sharp scissors stabbed deep into their calf. A guttural scream pierced the air and Radford sprung into action, scrambling off the couch and gesturing to Robbie and Kevin to follow. In the light of the small windows next to the door, he dug into his pocket and thrust his phone at his brother.

“Get out of here. If we all go out together I’m worried you might get hurt too,” Radford said, voice hushed as the Box Cutter continued to yell behind him. There was a crash as they stumbled into and knocked over what was probably an old family portrait. If Radford made it out of this, he would never walk around barefoot again. Leave it to him to feel less safe at home. “Call 911 and stay at Ross’ till I get you, okay?”

The teenager glanced between Radford and the killer who had, by now, stopped howling with pain. Uneven footsteps lumbered towards the group, and Robbie tracked their progress, his eyes growing wider as they neared the front door. Come on, Robbie, Radford urged internally. His brother had one too many close calls with the Box Cutter, and he was preparing to grab and throw him through the broken window. But before he could, Robbie threw the door wide open, light spilling into the room that grew still darker before he ran out. 

The wave of relief that crashed over Radford was short-lived as he turned to see the Box Cutter limping towards him and Kevin, and when the light from the window hit them, he saw the scissors still buried in their calf. A dark, russet patch stained their brown pants, and it continued to spread slowly down their leg.

They were human. 

“Why didn’t we just follow the kid?” Kevin whispered frantically from next to him, both of their backs pressed to the door as they watched the killer pass through the light and into the darkness as they drew closer.

Radford didn’t know how to explain the odd feeling in his gut, so he hushed him, trying to decide what to do next. The overhead lights in the kitchen across the way flickered to life and back again as if to draw his attention, the Christmas music that had been on the radio starting up again. He didn’t want to go out the front door even if that would be the best option, so the kitchen door was the next best thing. Though it was behind the killer, they moved at a snail’s pace, not fast enough to run after them. Maybe. It could have just been the dark playing tricks on him. 

He looked across the way to Kevin, who was near hyperventilating, and jerked his chin in the direction of the kitchen. Unsurprisingly, the latter shook his head - but he wasn’t the prime target, Radford was. Which was why he took the risk and bolted, leaving the tentative safety of the foyer towards the Box Cutter’s shadow. 

With a swift kick to what he hoped was their already injured leg, he heard a shout, followed by the blade landing on and skittering across the floor. Radford made it past them and into the dim kitchen, turning up the radio so maybe, just maybe the Box Cutter wouldn’t hear his or Kevin’s movement in the dark. The happy holiday music juxtaposed with the situation was almost humorous, but Radford couldn't dwell on it as he fiddled with the locks on the door. Soon enough, Kevin joined him - Radford knew it was him from the way he shook, as well as the acrid scent of blood on his hands. For once, it was a comforting scent; the Box Cutter hadn’t drawn a drop. 

“Why is this taking so long?” Kevin whisper-yelled over the music, casting a glance over his shoulder. 

“Jack and I installed so many locks,” Radford replied, trying to listen for the Box Cutter’s steps. “There’s a lot to unlock, Kev.”

“Yeah, I’m sure. That isn’t really safe if the killer’s already inside.”

“Was I supposed to know the guy was gonna break the window?”

Right as he finished his sentence, the radio slowed and distorted into static once more, and Radford heard the footsteps stop - then start again, quickening and getting closer to the kitchen. But as much as he knew they’d gotten faster, they also seemed to slow as little as that made sense - slow and drowsy yet fast. The air around him grew even colder as goosebumps pimpled his arms. He yawned, his eyelids starting to droop as the tantalizing aroma of strawberries danced through the air. 

Kevin collapsed to the floor with a thud that echoed through the small kitchen, and Radford knew it was only a matter of time until he’d join him and the Box Cutter would rip into his neck, into his torso, unwrap the present they had wanted this whole time and end their own movie. 

Sunlight filled the room, revealing the strawberry runners that crawled along the kitchen appliances. Green grass poked through the cracks between the old vinyl tiling, growing over and reclaiming the home from suburbia. Radford turned around to see that same willow tree from his dreams, beckoning it to join Kevin in the shade, but he didn’t want to. Instead, he forced himself to face the Box Cutter, who was still running at him, head on. Their footsteps echoed in his head, his jaw slack as he watched a new shadow enter the room, entranced, enthralled.

Finally illuminated in the phantasmal sunlight was the only thing standing between him and the Box Cutter. With a sharp intake of breath his gaze landed on Salem. It was him, right down to the tips of his gnarled claws - as close to Streber’s drawings as the pair could get when it came to their amateur costuming. Though he was a vampire, he appeared as an angel, glowing in the sunlight although had it been real he would have withered to ashes and dust. The slasher faltered, stepping back, crushing dandelions beneath their heels. The blade, which Radford could see clearly, swung shut, tucking inside the handles that had previously been fanned open. Salem continued to stand between them, and Radford wished he’d turn around so he could see his eyes. 

“Wait,” the Box Cutter stuttered in a familiar accent, and before Radford knew it they’d reached inside the mask and tossed aside some sort of device. It rolled in the grass and came to a stop near his socked feet, which were growing soggy from dew - or at least, that was what the spell was trying to tell him. He squinted at the device; it appeared to be a sort of voice changer used in Halloween costumes, until it was swallowed by a patch of clovers. “I wasn’t going to kill him! I was just trying to scare him a little, is all!” 

Wait, Dexter? Radford didn’t know if his mind was playing tricks on him, if this was just a figment of his imagination, but the transatlantic accent and odd inflections…who else could it be, because it no longer sounded like Orion Scar. Before he could think too much more about it - as hard as he could through the sleepy fog filling his brain - the vampire spoke. 

“Oh, and I suppose that’s what the very real, not-for-practice balisong is for, huh?” 

Radford’s breath hitched throat as his friend’s voice filled his ears, complete with the usual snark. He had to remind himself again and again that it wasn’t Streber, not entirely, but it was even harder than he thought it would be. Had this even been something he bothered to consider, what would happen if he saw him again, alive or not? 

“That doesn’t mean I was going to kill him.” The Box Cutter - decidedly Dexter - held their knife closed between their thumb and forefinger and tossed aside their mask. They looked even worse than usual, frenzied, eyes and smile wide enough to split their face. “I mean, I-”

Salem folded his arms and cocked a hip, his head following suit. “You’ve never been a great liar,” he mused, walking, almost gliding through the grass - the tile? - and sizing up Dexter’s taller frame. “Maybe a good one, but not a great one. And it’s embarrassing how, the more you fall apart, the worse at it you get.” Dexter’s smile seemed to grow more pained and more irritated by the minute. “There’s two ways you can go when stuff like this happens: either you can get your shit together and act like you aren’t, or you can join the circus and make an ass clown of yourself. And look at what you chose!” The vampire reached for their nose. “Should I give your nose a honk? Just to really sell it?”

Dexter swallowed and their Adam’s apple bobbed, their wrist flicking to fan their butterfly knife once again. Almost like they were nervous. Radford didn’t think he had ever seen that before, or any emotions that seemed genuine, save for when Gregor met them at the door that time, or when they were talking in their room the other day…”I didn’t choose any of this!” they sneered, rebuilding that mask in a matter of seconds and pointing the blade behind Salem at Radford. “ He did! This is all his fault!”

“Sure it is,” Salem sniffed, swatting Dexter’s hand and knocking the blade onto the floor. Radford thought he felt his heart flutter - and what bad timing for it! “You want to know what I think?” He tapped his chin. “Well, more like what I know ?”

“You don’t know anything,” Dexter spat, no longer trying for the knife and instead shoving Salem away. They didn’t manage to shove him far, but he was close enough now for Radford to touch if he wanted. Closer than he’d been in over a month. “I can go right back to your apartment and turn off your movie. You’re nothing but static.” 

The dream around Radford fizzled, not due to his own consciousness wavering but seemingly due to Salem’s. The scenery popped and buzzed with visual snow, and Salem seized as if he was trying to regain control. Feeling the vampire’s thrall lift, Radford squeezed his eyes shut, the strobing growing a bit too much for his already sensitive vision. How odd it was, though - did telling projections that they were projections mess with them? If they were some sort of specter that believed themself to be in character, did breaking the scene break them out of character? 

Moments later, he heard Streber’s - no, Salem’s , Radford reminded himself - voice again. 

“I know plenty,” the vampire hissed, and Radford peeked one eye open to find his body no longer glitching out. “I know you just as well as I know everyone else in town, Dex.” He chuckled and shook his head. “You aren’t doing this because you think he deserves it. You’re doing it because you like it. Just like you liked shoving that woman out the window.”

Dexter’s left eyebrow arched. “I did that so you-”

“-Could have ‘something to eat’?” Salem’s voice echoed through the cold, dark kitchen, the glamour he had tried to drag Radford into having completely disappeared by now. “I never wanted to hurt anyone who didn’t deserve it.” Dexter opened their mouth to interrupt, but Salem’s voice raised far beyond what useless mumbles they could have provided. “ You were the one who pushed her out of her own home. You dreamed about it and it made you content. And watching me kill her when we realized the fall hadn’t? You liked that even more because it justified your feelings.”

“She was a nail in your coffin.” Dexter reached down for their balisong, their gaze remaining trained on Salem. “She was one of the reasons you died.” 

Salem’s countenance stiffened, and he drew himself taller. “And you decided to dress as the reason I did,” he uttered. “Congratulations.” 

Now that he was fully awake, Radford knelt down, trying not to draw Salem’s attention lest he cast anymore spells on him. He shook Kevin, whose eyes were still shut, still knocked out cold against the door. At least one of them needed to get out of here, and Radford wasn’t sure who would win this standoff between Dexter and Salem - Dexter could easily make Salem glitch out again, and even if they didn’t, Radford wasn’t sure he liked his chances with the vampire either. 

“You are so full of sin, and you try to quell it by harming those you think don’t feel and don’t matter. But it isn’t what they may or may not feel that’s driving you to do it, it’s how you feel about doing it.” As Dexter tried to regain their balance from how they were stooped, Salem kicked them back down, and they let out a pitiful cry, like the sound of a long-lost, wounded animal. What karma, Radford couldn’t help but think. “And the treachery you bring to your home? Is that your mother’s fault? Because she has to love you regardless of how you treat her?”

“Don’t-” Dexter hugged their arms around themself as best they could with one hand hanging limp. “Don’t talk about my mom. She…she didn’t do anything.” 

Salem barked cruel laughter. “No one ever does.” He placed a heel on the handles of the scissors digging into Dexter’s leg. “No one ever does anything. Just like the butcher said he ‘didn’t’ kill those people in his freezer, even those ones in the back that were dated four years ago.” Four years? How big was that guy’s freezer!? “And just like that son of a bitch who ‘hadn’t’ neglected his duties as an employee and as a friend.” The scissors dug deeper into Dexter’s leg, and yet another cry tumbled from their lips, their gaze flicking from Salem to Radford and back again. Like they wanted him to do something. He tried to ignore it and kept shaking Kevin awake, but to no avail. “And that conspiracy theorist who was so angry at his friend he ran for mayor just to drag his name through the dirt.” Salem lifted his heel from the scissors, watching as more blood soaked through the costume. “And finally, you. All the ‘nothing’ that you do. It’s really quite pathetic.”

“Streber, all I’ve been doing is for you,” Dexter pleaded, their voice softening as tears tumbled down their cheeks. They didn’t seem to be used to crying, and that was almost enough to distract Radford from the fact they’d just referred to Salem as Streber , and he hadn’t glitched. They clasped their hands in front of their manic smile. “I just wanted to help you. This whole time!”

“Only because it benefits you.” Salem shoved them from their kneeling position, and their chin hit the floor so hard Radford could hear their teeth clack together. Maybe some of them broke. “And I know I always was a benefit to you. I saw it in your dreams, who I was before. I did nothing but watch.” He crouched next to them, and they looked up at him with as much fear in their eyes as an animal gone to slaughter. “But not anymore.” 

“Wait, no, no, no, please!” They shook, their eyes darting on the room and finally landing on Radford, whose hand had grown clammy on Kevin’s shoulder as he gave up and watched the scene unfold as if on a screen. A tragicomic. They reached out with their right hand flopping, useless, on the vinyl. “Radford. Radford, Radford, please, help me. I don’t want to die.”

Radford couldn’t help but think back to what they’d said that one night in November. 

I know I’m fucked up, Radford…

…But they really weren’t trying.

Radford probably could have done something other than what he did. He could have done as much as clear his throat and catch Salem off guard long enough for Dexter to get away. Instead, he wondered if it made him just as bad as them to ignore as Salem descended on them, claws ripping into their back, fangs digging into their neck. Instead, he tried again to wake up Kevin, shaking him so hard his head knocked with a thud against the door that rang in Radford’s ears and almost certainly rang in his friend’s. 

All while he watched someone who was almost a friend and almost a foe die in front of him, experiencing more concentrated terror than he ever could dream of. And Salem seemed willing to let them feel it all as his fingers dug deeper into their back, raring to pry apart their ribs and turn their lungs into bloody angel wings, the hesitation Patty discussed no longer present. 

As Dexter’s attempts and cries to escape grew more feeble, Radford heard the slam of another door. Quick footsteps echoed in the darkness, a patch of sun shimmering through the window bouncing off a golden crucifix. It looked like heaven in the face of the hell in front of him, divine light that would free him from his statuesque prison of observation. 

“BEGONE!” yelled the voice, and Radford felt droplets dapple his arms. With a loud hiss, Salem stumbled off Dexter’s blood-soaked body, and Father Gregor stepped into the kitchen, still holding the crucifix as well as a large, uncapped bottle of holy water. 

“You should thank me,” Salem said, backing against the kitchen cabinets as Gregor glowered at him, standing tall, unwavering, against the shorter vampire. The priest seemed to have alchemized Salem’s confidence into his own. “I’m doing your job for you.”

“It is not my job to pass judgement, nor is it yours.” Gregor’s eyes narrowed. “Only God may do so.” 

Salem crept towards the kitchen exit, which Gregor was still blocking. Long nails dug into wood and left long scratches along the grain. “Funny you think that’s what I’m talking about. You’re still meant to guide people,” he said smoothly, his skin smoldering as he slunk out of the sunlight. “And the way I see it, you guided Dexter to their own downfall. You’re feeling it even now. So pardon me for cleaning up your shoddy work.” 

A quick glance towards the body at his feet made the priest waver just enough to let Salem’s glitching, smoking body slip past him out of the kitchen. He whipped around, following the vampire’s path with his eyes, still clutching the cross close, though his hands trembled more than they had prior. And then the cross tumbled, and Radford watched, still frozen, as the priest fell to his knees next to Dexter’s body. His eyes widened, his brows raised, and Radford knew he was wondering what he was going to tell Michelle. 

Now that the danger was gone, he clambered to his feet and reached into his pocket for his phone until he remembered he had given it to his brother, who was far gone by then. As he walked, slow and stiff, to get a towel to stop Dexter’s bleeding, the lights flickered back on, as did the radio. He grabbed a dish towel from the drawer to the sound of twinkling Christmas carols before smacking the top of the radio to turn it off, leaving the room bathed in silence and the nearing sound of sirens once more. 

“There should be an ambulance,” he spoke for the first time in several minutes, his voice a croak as he pressed the towel to the blood pouring from Dexter’s back. He wasn’t sure what was making them bleed out faster, that or their neck, but he wanted to try, overwhelmed with guilt that he had allowed this to happen. 

The priest bowed his head and whispered prayers with conviction, his tears staining Dexter’s bloodied, torn blue shirt. He ignored Radford, save for scooting to the side just enough so they could both sit there and watch Dexter take shallow, shaky breaths, soft sobs still shaking their shoulders. 

Finally, they lifted their head as much as they could. “Father?”

Gregor halted his prayer and ran his fingers through Dexter’s hair, a parental gesture that twisted the deep-seated knife in Radford’s heart. “I’m here.” 

“Do you…” their teeth chattered, and they tried to curl up, but with a firm hand, Radford stilled them. It was better for them to be trivially uncomfortable than change positions, he remembered John explaining to him when he was younger. “Do you know where my mom is?” 

Gregor offered them a small, bittersweet smile. “She’ll join you when they take you to the hospital.” 

All of a sudden, their eyes widened, their breathing quickened. “I don’t want to go there,” they insisted, trying again to move away from both Gregor and Radford. Radford pressed harder on their back with the already-saturated towel, dragging a whine from them as they twisted to glare straight at him. “This is four- your fault. You made me feel this way. You didn’t let me say goodbye. You made me bring him back.”

Another twinge in Radford’s heart, one which weighed the corners of his lips further down. “I would have told you, but-” He needed to tell them. He needed to give them a better answer. He couldn’t let them die without hearing the full truth, that envy had not been the sole reason. “He didn’t want you to know.”

Dexter’s eyebrows furrowed, their expression more ashen as they took in his words. “What?”

Radford swallowed hard. Now that he started, he wouldn’t be able to stop, talking over Gregor’s prayers. “That was why he kept his name off his own list, because he knew we would try to stop him.” He hung his head lower than the priest’s bow. “He knew he couldn’t be there for the ending because the story couldn’t end without him dying. But then you brought him back, and…he didn’t want that.” 

The last part was bull, and Radford knew it, but in what might be Dexter’s last moments, he wanted to rectify the situation, come up with some explanation for why “Streber” would hurt them. But that only seemed to cause Dexter more anger. 

“I only did ‘cause you did it thirst. First.” they growled, voice cracking and shaking with anger as they fought to keep their eyes open, and Radford was left wondering what they were referring to. But as their words faded further into a half-alive word salad, their angry tone was all Radford could go off of. “Left boar mouse in white angel.”

“Dexter,” Gregor tried to hush them, pressing a finger to their lips although they only seemed to get more distressed. 

“Blood snowflakes.” They paused and tried again, shaking their head as though they were trying to free their brain from their skull, but their words didn’t come out any less jumbled. “Melting windows floors.”

The sirens finally stopped in front of the house, followed by the medics pushing through and placing a stretcher beneath Dexter’s body. A quick glance over Radford’s shoulder revealed Michelle standing in the doorway, clutching the locket around her neck, her face more lined than usual and not a cat at her heels. She gave him a little nod before following her child into the ambulance. Just as quickly as it had come, it had gone, leaving Radford, Gregor, and a still snoozing Kevin all alone in the now-bright kitchen. 

Radford didn’t know what to say nor even think as he tried to run back through what had just happened to them. All his brain could come up with was about the same as Dexter had been able to provide. He and Gregor exchanged glances, the old man’s face grim, and he was about to ask him the question he’d had much earlier, before the Box Cutter - before Dexter - broke in. But Gregor spoke before he could, his vocal cords showing their age. 

“I always knew Dexter was troubled,” Gregor sighed, watching the blood on the floor congeal. “Perhaps the demon was correct. I tried to help as much as I could and, for a while, it seemed as though it was working. But in the end, I did more harm than good. They needed more help - different than anything I could provide.” 

Maybe it wasn’t a good time to ask Gregor about the sins, as it seemed he was reflecting on his own. He supposed in the meantime, he could do his own research, using what Salem had spoken about as a guide. Radford looked down at Kevin, whose eyelids were fluttering in his sleep. God he’d have a lot to tell him when he woke up. He was shocked he hadn’t already. 

After a long moment, Radford turned his attention back to the priest, pushing his bangs out of his eyes and his glasses up his nose. “Are you leaving?” 

“I should.” Gregor remained pensive, thin lips pursed. He plucked the crucifix from the ground, turned it over in his hands and watched it shine, though he didn’t hold it as confidently as he had before. “I must be there for Michelle during this hard time.” He regarded Kevin, then Radford, with another sad smile, then placed it on the countertop as he walked away. “I will keep you and your kin in my prayers as well. Remember, you have my details if you need anything.” 

“You’re not taking your crucifix?” Radford asked Gregor’s retreating back, but he didn’t receive an answer. He watched his own warped reflection in the crucifix, the meaning of it weighing on his soul. He had an inkling he was meant to use it against Salem if he came back. 

But despite everything, despite the blood on his floor, the lingering sleep spell, and everything else that had happened, he questioned whether he would be able to.

Notes:

12/27/2024

i want to clarify: never have i myself had to deal with word salad, however i have known schizophrenic people where that is a symptom. and while dexter isn’t experiencing it due to schizophrenia, it is also something that is found in patients with varying consciousness or that have been in high stress situations. it’s not meant to be humorous.

-nyx

Chapter 15: SCENE FIFTEEN

Notes:

1/2/2024

i do not want to spoil this chapter. just be wary, there are some heavy topics having to do with the current american political climate, especially towards the end.

-nyx

Stratus clouds cast a shroud over the town, draping it in a dreary, blue darkness. The only color that remained were the piercing yellow rays guiding the van throughout downtown; that, and the crimson it left in its wake. 

Radford rubbed his hands to warm them, Abraham’s attempts to do so only resulting in sporadic puffs and nothing substantial. There was a roughness to his knuckles that he’d never had before, consisting of dry, cracked skin. If he eventually made it home, he’d be raiding John’s cabinet for the hand salve he had. For a moment, he wondered if maybe this sort of thing only happened to miserable people and that was why it was happening to him for the first time at age nineteen. 

When he made it to his destination, he knocked with care on the front door and, as he waited, peered at the snowy yards around him. Though there were plenty of string lights wrapped around tree trunks, windows, and roofs, none of them were on. Even the inflatable decorations that dotted numerous yards were deflated and mostly covered by the most recent snowfall. It was almost as if the holiday cheer had been sucked from the town, drained by the recent tragedies. 

Not only had Bob been murdered, but he’d also been unmasked. He and his restaurant had been ingrained in the town for so long, now the citizens were probably wondering how many times they’d accidentally eaten a missing friend or loved one - hell, even Radford had. And in response to this and everything that had happened before and after, Evermore cracked down on all the wrong things, leaving many without a job, hiding in their homes, or even, in John’s case, comatose. Los Ocultos had tried to prevail, but now that the decorations were out, no one had bothered to turn them on. 

The porch light overhead flicked on and he saw a pale face peek through one of the front-facing windows, followed by two others. He managed a smile at the three, and they all disappeared shortly before the door swung open. 

All he heard was his name before being tackled by the ball of warmth that was his little brother, a much welcomed change from the cold. He hugged Robbie close, ruffling his hair, his fingers catching in numerous tangles as he did. “Hey, buddy,” he said, pulling back from the hug to look at his brother, who had borrowed Ross’ clothes. To lighten the mood, he gestured at the oversized shirt swallowing his skinny frame. “You guys playing dress up?”

Robbie danced from foot to foot on the porch; the brick must have been freezing. “No, just had to borrow some stuff.” He glanced over his shoulder at Ross, who was sipping a steaming mug of punch, and at Roy, who seemed sort of down. It made sense, though - this was his first Hanukkah without his mom. “We’ve just been hanging out here - but what about you? What happened after I left?”

Radford didn’t want to explain just how bad everything had gotten, so he just uttered a simple, “You probably shouldn’t come home for a while.”

“Oh.” Robbie hung his head. “What about Hope?”

“I took her to Aunt Meara’s again.” Right after she’d come home from school that evening, in fact. He’d taken her upstairs to pack and hurried her to her aunt’s straightaway. He didn’t even let her into the kitchen for her after school snack, not wanting to explain the bloodstain he’d painstakingly tried and failed to clean up. She’d cried at the notion of having to leave her kitten behind in her room. “I’ve been keeping in touch, though. I gave Meara all the information for Hope’s chemo appointments.” 

Robbie nodded along, his teeth chattering as he eventually stepped indoors. When Radford didn’t follow, he beckoned him to come in, but Radford had other matters to attend to. “Do you think she’s going to be in town for the parade, then?” Robbie asked. “She was really excited about it.”

“We’ll see.” Which, in adult speak, meant ‘no’. Not only did Radford not know if the parade would be safe, but if Evermore had any brains rattling in his head he was probably wondering that too. “Anyways,” he continued, “I gotta head out.” 

Radford regarded Ross and Roy with a nod, and the pair nodded back, while Robbie only wilted further. He dug in the pockets of his cinched-waist, baggy pants and handed Radford his phone back. “Are you sure you have to go? Ross’ mom is making dinner and-” he glanced back at Ross. “What is it? Ponche?” Ross nodded, taking another sip from his steaming cup, and Robbie gave Radford a pleading smile. “It’s good, you should have some.”

 Radford waved him away as he tried to tuck his phone in his back pocket, before remembering that one was already full and placing it in his other one. “Nah, it’s okay.” He glanced up at the sky, which only seemed to grow darker. “Maybe I’ll swing by later, but I don’t wanna hog your yummy dinner from you.” After ruffling Robbie’s hair again, he waggled his fingers and made his way back to the car, heart heavy. 

The shadow of his brother remained in the doorway until Radford could no longer see it anymore. 

On his way towards downtown, he took a slight detour towards Orion’s home. Even on a day like today, a small number of people were camped outside the gates as if waiting for the actor to take a step out of his house. This time, though, they were armed with snowballs, and from the looks of it they were packing ice and rocks into them. Even though they couldn’t kill Orion - he was already dead, after all! - those would definitely still hurt. He grimaced at the thought and continued down the road. 

Minutes later, when he pulled into the parking lot of Eden Hospital, he noticed people picketing out front. For a moment, he was afraid it was another mob situation, but as he got out of the van and drew nearer, he noticed a familiar figure in a blue hijab seemingly leading the group. He quickened his step and hurried up to the protesters, just to make sure he was seeing this properly. Sure enough, he was; Patty locked eyes with him, but didn’t stop her chant. He peered at the sign she was holding in her non-megaphone hand, which simply read: “REJECT EVERMORE! KEEP POLITICS OUT OF HEALTHCARE!”. The other signs seemed to say similar things, and he recognized a few other hospital and municipal workers in the fray; likely other people who had been sacked in some way. He hoped the police car in the lot wasn’t there to stop them, because if he didn’t have something to do, he’d consider joining in. 

His shoes, wet with snow, squeaked on the floor as he entered the building. The lobby was quiet enough to hear the chanting outside even after the doors closed. There were a few people there who seemed injured or sick, but otherwise, it was fairly empty. Spotting Michelle, Gregor, and Jack seated in the far corner, away from other patients, he made a beeline for them. Jack was the first to look up, and he waved in greeting, his other hand fidgeting with his cat keychain instead of his ring. His ring, which was absent from his finger and was instead hanging on a chain around his neck. God. 

“Hey,” he addressed the group, sitting in the empty chair next to Jack. Now that he was closer, he could see all three of their faces were lined in worry. He lowered his voice so that only Jack could hear, not wanting to upset the others. “Any word?”

The deputy shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose, worry lines growing more prominent. “Those two said they haven’t heard anything,” he mused, before looking at Radford in his peripherals. “I did tell Michelle that you stole her cat.” 

“Which is perfectly fine!” Michelle piped up, craning her neck to look at Radford. Her voice was thin and strained, as though she hadn’t spoken much for the past several days, but still apologetic. “I was going to take Paolo to the shelter. I was just worried he’d lost his way.” 

One of the fluorescent lights above them flickered, and Radford squinted until it stopped, folding his hands in his lap. The crucifix in his back pocket felt like it was about to burn a hole through the fabric if he didn’t bring up why he was here. So, after a few minutes of small talk he navigated his way through on autopilot, he leaned over to ask Gregor if they could talk somewhere more private when Jack’s radio buzzed and he stood up. Raising an eyebrow, Radford asked him what was going on.

Nostrils flaring with contempt at whoever just radioed, Jack switched his radio off and took out his earpiece. “Evermore needs me back at town hall to discuss parade plans,” he said, reaching out a hand to Michelle. “Sorry Miss, I was planning to prolong this, but would you mind talking with me alone?” 

The old woman allowed Jack to help her from her chair, slight confusion on her face as she followed him a little ways away. There wasn’t much privacy in the lobby, but it was just enough so that Radford would have to strain to hear them properly, especially with all the yelling going on outside as well as the typical hospital ambience. Not to mention, it made it easier to talk to Gregor about what he needed to talk about. 

“Hello, sir,” Radford said, looking the disheveled priest up and down. Crumbs of vending machine snacks dusted the black cassock, and his satchel had been left open, causing its contents to spill in the chair. It was far different from what he’d seen from the immaculate priest before. “How are you?”

“I have prayed so much I can’t bring myself to pray anymore,” Gregor responded, a brief sort of anguish etching his features as he bowed his head. “I thought I had seen the demons the world had to offer.” He gave Radford a wary glance, his eyes misty. “That wretched thing in your home used to be nothing short of a folktale to me. In my experience exorcising demons, I have never come across a vessel such as that.” 

At that, Radford wondered if the man had ever heard of vampires before. But he didn’t want to waste time asking; there were more important things to discuss than years of vampire lore. “Well, this…’demon’,” he started, meeting Gregor’s downcast gaze, “targeted Dexter because they were a sinner, not because of malice. All of his victims had a ‘sin’ they were associated with.” 

Gregor’s brow furrowed. “A ‘sin’? As in, a cardinal sin?” As Radford nodded, the priest rubbed his chin in thought. “I don’t believe that humans are capable of representing one ‘particular’ sin, as they are more complicated,” he explained. “While they all are different, much of the time sinners tend to carry many of the other sins along with them. For example, Dexter, when unable to act on his lustful desires to kill, was driven to states of wrath towards whatever was blocking him from doing so.”

Likely what Radford experienced the other day. Then again, given what Salem had said about Dexter ‘doing it because they liked it’ rather than thinking he deserved it…”Salem seemed to think Dexter’s sin was lust.” 

“And I can understand that. He always had a longing to kill. It was the highlight of every confession.” Gregor’s shoulders slumped as he seemed to reminisce on the many times Dexter had come to confess the same sin. “He expressed that he tried to lessen these urges by killing those who he felt couldn’t feel the pain he inflicted, and regrettably, I was the one who recommended he find a healthy outlet in extermination. I had recently seen a job posting at the community center, and after a few years, when he opened his own business, thought that things were going well.” 

“But they weren’t,” Radford finished the story for him, a sick feeling growing in his stomach. So instead of recommending therapy, Gregor instead coddled their addiction to killing? To him it almost felt like allowing an alcoholic to drink depending on the context. Rather than wait for the opportunity, they’d make up opportunities in order to justify it, which Dexter had certainly done. 

Instead of saying that, though, Radford just watched as a tear slipped down Gregor’s wrinkled cheek. “As I said the other day, I know I failed him,” he said, voice near a croak, “him and Shelly. But the intention was there, and it still is.”

There was a long pause in which the overhead lights flickered thrice more, the hushed whispers from the corner beckoning for Radford to listen to them. But before his hearing could adjust to the lower decibels, Gregor spoke up again. 

“I fear that the demon may never stop, as the supposed ritual it’s trying to complete is impossible.” 

The words hung in the air and sent a chill down Radford’s spine. The hairs on his arms, legs, and the back of his neck all prickled - but it wasn’t as though Gregor didn’t have a point. The sins in Salem’s world had been one-dimensional, but the ones they’d slain in the real world were more complex than that. He just hadn’t expected Gregor to say the same thing Kevin had days prior. Priests were meant to know sin better than those who committed them. As he reached the realization that, unlike last time, he’d never be able to figure out who would be targeted next - where he’d get to see Salem again - he chose to listen in on Jack and Michelle’s conversation instead. He didn’t look at them so as to not make it obvious he was listening and sat with his hands still folded, running his fingers over his cracked knuckles.

“Trust me, Miss,” Jack whispered, “the therapist I recommended will tell you the same thing. You need to focus on yourself right now.” 

“But it’s so hard to,” Michelle responded, sounding near tears. “I tried to bring my yarn with me so I could knit, but I kept dropping stitches thinking about how I used to knit sweaters for Dexter every winter, and how he might not get to wear this one.”

And once again, Radford felt at fault for not helping Dexter sooner. They had a mother who loved them so much; just that notion should have been enough to do so much as give a temporary distraction. Yet he hadn’t. Even before Streber’s death, he hadn’t given them a chance - a real one - then, or any moment after. And sure, he’d known that about himself for weeks, but in the midst of the realization that despite his feelings there were plenty who felt otherwise, it made him even more miserable. 

Jack’s smooth voice cut back in to console Michelle. “Well, the parade is coming up in two weeks’ time,” he said. “Every year, you have a bakery booth, right? Maybe you could focus on that. I know your absence would leave a noticeable hole in the festivities.” There was a pause in which maybe Michelle shook her head no. “At least consider it, Miss. Engaging with others is also important during times like this, after all. Trust me, I understand.” 

A minute later, Jack and Michelle returned, Michelle looking just a little lighter, clutching a slip of paper in her right hand as she sat next to Gregor. In response, the priest placed a gentle, comforting hand on her arm. Meanwhile, Jack’s attentions turned to Radford. “Let’s leave them alone,” the acting sheriff said, beckoning him out of his seat, and Radford followed, but not before withdrawing the crucifix from his pocket and placing it in Gregor’s satchel. He needed faith more than Radford did, regardless of how willing or unwilling he was to admit it. 

With that and a wave goodbye, Jack and Radford headed towards the sliding glass doors, both of them pensive from their respective experiences in the lobby. Noticing Jack fidgeting with his keys again, Radford was about to ask if he was okay, if maybe he needed to talk before they parted ways. 

That is, until he heard shouting outside the doors, and not the organized sort. He and Jack looked at one another and picked up the pace, leaving the warm lobby to find the protest being forcibly dissolved by a group of lower-level officers. Patty’s megaphone lay broken on the ground, stomped on by heavy boots, and Patty herself was trying to fight off two officers who were forcing her hands into cuffs. Many of the other protesters had run off, and the ones who hadn’t were watching Patty through the windows of police cars lined up in front of the hospital. 

“Jack!” Patty yelled once she saw them come through the door. Her face was ruby red with anger as she rammed her shoulder into an officer’s chin, still trying to break away. To Radford’s horror, he noticed her hijab was askew - only enough to show bangs, but he still looked away out of respect. They better not have tried to pull it off of her.  “Did you call these assholes on us?!”

Despite his rising anger, a quick glance at Jack told Radford that the man had no clue what was going on here. Besides, Radford tried to assure himself, he couldn’t have ordered this. He would have taken care of it himself if he’d had an issue with it. “No!” Jack cried, running over to the officers restraining Patty and trying to pull them away. “What the hell?! I didn’t order you to-”

His statement was cut off with a rough punch to the jaw, and Jack fell back, reaching for his taser. The officer who punched him finally got Patty handcuffed and folded his arms. “Leave it, Hwangbo,” he snorted. “Our orders came straight from the top.”

Jack spat on the ground, leaving a spatter of blood and a pearl of a tooth in the middle. “Let her go,” he insisted, holding his jaw. Radford ran to Jack’s side and found a sizable, red bruise already coloring his skin. “Last I checked, I’m the sheriff, and I order you to let her go.”

The two officers exchanged glances before busting out into mean-spirited laughter, and Patty glowered at both of them. “When you didn’t go to town hall to help Evermore, he dispatched us to get you,” the other one explained. “And what we found was you slacking on your duties, so we took care of the situation.” 

“But this was a peaceful protest!” Radford blurted, gesturing towards the lack of damage to the property. There wasn’t even so much as an egg yolk staining the building. “They have a right. People got trampled over at Orion Scar’s the other day, but you guys didn’t help with that at all, so what’s this really about?”

“It’s politics,” the first officer sneered, “but if you want it to be, we can make it about you, too.” 

“Yeah, tell him how comfortable these ‘bracelets’ are, Blondie ,” the second officer joked, and Patty stamped his foot, hard, the heel of her loafers scuffing the leather. In response, the two of them yanked her away and shoved her, kicking and screaming, in one of the cars, and all Radford could do was watch in horror. Surely this couldn’t be happening. “And another thing,” the officer yelled at Jack, who’d moved in front of Radford, once he slammed the door closed. “Come to the station and turn in your badge and gun. You’re relieved of your position, effective immediately.” 

There was a chorus of engines as the police cars rolled out of the hospital parking lot, and in the moments that followed, there was surreal silence. 

And then the silence was pierced by sobs, like nothing Radford had ever heard from Jack before. Sorrow and heartbreak filled his eardrums as he watched the man fall to his knees, clutching the ring in his hands in desperation, his keychain falling in a puddle of his own blood. But Radford couldn’t fault him at all if what Patty had said a while back rang true. It was too horrific, like something from a movie just as much as the entire world had been feeling lately. 

As real as it was supposed to be, none of it, none of it felt real at all.

Chapter 16: SCENE SIXTEEN

 It didn’t feel like a week from Christmas. 

To be fair, this December had gone by much more quickly without those traditions that Radford now considered as silly. Michelle’s Christmas plate lay neglected without crumbs on the counter, all cookies long since eaten. The only carols sung were sirens, only displays flickering porch lights keeping watch for intruders. As if those could keep out the demons in this town.

Freezing rain pelted against the roof as Radford carried two steaming mugs of hot cocoa into the chilly living room. Although the heater tried its best, the cold still leaked through the boarded, broken window. To make matters worse, the glass-filled carpet had since been removed from the floor leaving only tiling from the 1970s, which didn’t retain any heat. But Jack insisted on sitting there, near the door with a sawed-off shotgun in hand, waiting for anything to walk in. It was clear by the bags under his eyes and his sunken cheeks that he hadn’t slept, much less taken care of himself, in days. The most he’d done was feed Paolo, who was situated on the armrest next to him. 

How familiar . 

Radford placed the mug on the coffee table. “Even if you don’t feel like eating, you should at least drink something,” he said when Jack didn’t reach for it. “C’mon, mmm , hot cocoa.” 

The discharged cop eyed him wearily, then reached for the mug. He brought it to his lips, his knuckles white like he thought he might drop it. His lip curled in disgust the moment he took a sip, though he tried to save it with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Did you use unsweetened cocoa?” 

Sipping from his own mug, Radford realized that he was right; he’d used unsweetened cocoa, and hadn’t added anything to balance out the flavor so it just tasted like hot mud. He backwashed, spitting the liquid back into the mug because there was no way he could force himself to drink that. Radford took both mugs back to dump out in the sink as Jack chuckled. 

“I guess we’re both distracted.” 

“I guess so.” As he took a big step over the bloodstained tiles, Radford accidentally slopped some of the cocoa onto the floor. Only when the puddle cooled did he grab a towel to wipe it up, then dump out the mugs in the sink, rinsing the cocoa sludge from the bottom. As he did, he watched the rain. The next day the streets would surely be covered in deadly ice, leaving the town in this bleak and eerie state as shadows and men behind curtains snuffed out every trace of the sun. 

He rejoined Jack a few minutes later on the old couch, staring at his lonely reflection on the television screen. The shaved, patchy sides of his head were growing out, and he watched himself run his fingers through them, then over his own pimpled, wrinkled face. He’d been one to judge Jack for his appearance when he’d looked the same over the past month. He was a hypocritical wolf in sheepish clothing. 

“Hey Jack?” he asked, twisting so he could look at the man who was now petting the kitten with a pensive look on his face. Rather than look up, Jack regarded him with a nod to show he heard him. “I’m sorry, but I have to say it. Giving up didn’t make me feel any better.” 

“I’m not giving up,” Jack said, gesturing to his gun with a wobbly smile. “I might not be in the force anymore, but I’m still protecting and serving. The one thing worse than John not coming back at all would be him coming back to no one.” 

The ring around Jack’s neck glinted in the lamplight as Radford watched. “There’s no use in that if he can’t come back to you, too.”

A tear slipped down Jack’s wrinkled, bruised face, and he clutched the shiny ring tight in his palm, pressing it to his heart. “It’s been hard to do this by myself,” he murmured, blinking rapidly as he tried to keep more tears from falling. “I think…it’s not just about losing John, you know. All my life I’ve been told I’m not good enough, or that I can’t stand on my own two feet. So for all of this to suddenly all be on my shoulders - John’s lives, your lives, civilian lives - I’ve been killing myself trying not to mess up.” To a degree, Radford could empathize - their plight wasn’t exactly the same, but it was similar, which was why he set a comforting hand on the former cop’s shoulder. The two of them sat in silence for some amount of time before Jack stood, wordlessly, and offered him a bittersweet smile. “Let me try again with that cocoa. And maybe something to eat, too.”

…..

Immediately after dinner, Jack fell asleep for the first time in days with Paolo curled up on his chest. Radford, who had been busily washing their dishes, switched the TV off, leaving the room bathed in gloomy blue. Even though it was an early night, Radford decided with a yawn that he may as well go to bed too. He dragged himself upstairs, not bothering to check the locks. 

Walking upstairs after staying in the cold downstairs for so long was like entering a cozy alternate dimension, and the cherry on top was the fact he could hear the rain tip-tapping on the roof, already trying to lull him to sleep. Before he could, though, he shot Jaune a quick ‘goodnight’ text meant for Robbie, then visited with the rats, who were busy burrowing in their bedding. From what it looked like, in their effort to dig, they’d thrown some of it out of the cage and onto the floor. 

He chuckled and peered at the all grey rat, who seemed to be behind the mess. The creature’s nose wiggled as it stared back at him like a deer in headlights. “Béla, you goofball, I don’t care what you do in your room, but you can’t make mine all messy.” He knelt to pick up the bedding Béla had thrown out, then addressed the other rat, too. “I hope this guy isn’t a bad influence on you.”

The rats watched him for a moment, then immediately went back to digging their burrow. How odd - usually they were more sociable, would come up to the cage door to say hi. Maybe they just smelled Paolo on him.

After almost stepping on it, he plucked his neglected mini projector from the ground and placed it on his shelf with his father’s camera, staying quiet as he looked around the room for anything out of the ordinary. All he saw, though, was the same mountain of dirty clothes, the same trash can still full of posters. So, after shucking and tossing his shirt and pants at the laundry pile, he was ready to get some much needed rest.

Then he noticed it.

Blood pumped in his ears. His back was to it but he already recognized the rising shadow cast on his bedroom wall. With his best attempt to cover his torso, he turned to view the cause of the rats’ fear and his own in all its horrible splendor.

“Salem,” Radford stuttered, trying not to make eye contact, believing he might not get bewitched if he didn’t. Despite his attempts, though, he still watched a smile crawl across his face, one so familiar he wanted to die. “I’m sorry. Didn’t know you were in here.” Why should he be sorry? This was his room! How dare the vampire lounge on the bed as though it was his own, all while wearing Streber’s face. All while reading Streber’s notebook, which was still open in his hands.

“Don’t be sorry.” Salem placed the notebook back on Radford’s nightstand, patting the mattress for Radford, who was still only in his boxers, to join him. 

Radford eyed his gleaming fangs, his painted claws. His mouth twitched into a deep and conflicted frown. “I think I’ll stand.”

“Whatever.” After a long moment of just looking at him, Salem pushed his bangs out of his face, his eyes shining through the dark. “Look. I know my spell didn’t work the other day and that you saw what I did, and you probably think I’m here to do the same to you.”

That was the understatement of the century. Yet, Radford still couldn’t bring himself to run. He hovered at the bedside, watching as Salem peeled the skin of his lips and chewed it. God, they even had the same mannerisms. “Aren’t you?” He asked, voice wobbling. 

“No.” Salem ran his tongue over his teeth as he pondered what to say next. “It’s different with you. I mean- the point is, Dexter didn’t think I’d see through them. To this day I still wonder why they thought they’d be exempt from this.” 

Even after death, Streber’s soul was still stuck on Dexter. Radford tried not to feel defensive over it, but the sound of blood boiling in his ears only grew louder, like listening to the echo of a conch shell. “What’s that have to do with…” he gestured around vaguely, “...anything?”

The vampire knocked his knuckles against the bloody knees of his jeans. Blood that didn’t belong to him. Jeans that didn’t belong to him. “You’re the person I’m trying to save with the ritual, not someone I have to kill for it,” he said, looking confused over why that was confusing. “Didn’t you figure that out the other day?”

“I’m not Pierre, though!” Radford cried, maybe too loud for this time of the night. His voice echoed in the otherwise still room, and he heard a fearful squeak from the rats. By then, remorse set in; it wasn’t like he was angry in any sense of the term but he wasn’t happy. He couldn’t stand it. He just couldn’t stand it. “I’m not Pierre, just like you aren’t Streber, and I wish you’d leave me alone.”

Salem’s nails dug into the fabric. “I know you aren’t.” They twitched, just a hint, against the denim, making a soft zip sound. “But you can’t deny that Pierre was written with you in mind. Almost exclusively.” Radford’s stomach churned. He couldn’t listen to this anymore, he knew that much. “I know he was. I know you.”

Feeling a presence pressing meddling fingers into his brain, he tried to leave, but couldn't bring himself to take another step backwards. Maybe he wasn’t acting out of his own volition, or maybe he didn’t want to. “Yeah, because I played the damn guy,” he said sharply. “It was nothing more than that.” 

There was a head shake no, which only made Radford more frustrated. Sure, he knew what he’d said was a lie, but he didn’t want to hear that from Salem. “Every evening,” Salem started, standing from the bed, taking slow, measured steps like he was approaching a frightened animal, “I watched the dreams of the townsfolk. I drew them into situations they desired and watched how they responded to determine the contents of their character.”

Radford watched as those familiar plants began growing around his room and, not wanting to fall for it again, squeezed his eyes shut. “What did mine tell you about me?” he asked, watching the false sunshine filter through his eyelids. “That I like to go outside?”

“That you miss the simplicity of how things used to be.” Salem’s voice was now right in front of him. He opened one eye to find the entire room had melted away in favor of that field from his dreams and immediately closed it. “Your parents used to take you somewhere like this. Before you found your safe space in horror, this was where you went in your head.”

That was right, but Radford didn’t want to admit it. Still, he opened his eyes just a hint.

“But it wasn’t safe. You’d escape with your dreams or your drugs and you wouldn’t eat for days. You just wanted all of the people you lost back, and ignored the ones you hadn’t. You’re just like him, trapped in a world you don’t want to be in.” Salem nipped at his lip, and black blood bubbled from the wound, and Radford realized he was looking at something behind him. The closet. The mirror . The vampire drew in a long breath - odd, since he didn’t need to breathe. “I know I’m always going to be on the other side of the mirror from you. But I’m trying so hard to get there.” 

Radford turned to find his mirror covered in static, much like a TV screen, tall and warped. If he tried hard enough, he might be able to see his own face within the static. “Why?” he asked simply, but Salem waved the question away. So he asked again, louder, and for a minute Salem crackled and buzzed like he had the other day when Dexter mentioned the projector. The mirage around the two of them faded once again, the sunlight subsiding to the darkness, and he didn’t know if he felt safer in his room or in the mirage anymore. He sniffled as Salem returned to normal, his odd sort of anger subsiding to grief as his voice came out broken. “Can you at least tell me why it hurts so much to see you here?”

“Think about it. You’re mourning just like I am.” A cold hand reached out to cup Radford’s cheek. And all of a sudden Radford was back on that fire escape, and Streber’s thumb was pressed over his mole so gently. His eyes flicked behind Streber, Salem, whoever it was towards the door, the familiar blade of the Box Cutter slamming into the wood and causing it to bow and split. “But you’re not just mourning who I was, are you?” he chuckled, stroking Radford’s cheek. “This isn’t about me at all.”

And maybe it wasn’t. Maybe Salem was just trying to confuse him, work his way into his brain like he had with Dexter. But if he was, why did the words ring so true in Radford’s head? He sucked a harsh breath into his lungs as he looked around his room, which was his room again, watched himself rip down those posters of things he once loved and toss them in the trash, watched himself smoke his days away, watched himself watch his old home movies in a catatonic state. Watched his parents come out of the projector and sit with him for a while, stroking his hair and signing to one another. Watched Streber and Ethan walk up and flop next to him, carrying popcorn and soda that wasn’t real. Watched Salem hover over him worriedly just to regurgitate blood into his mouth. Watched his whole childhood and everything he loved disappear into the eventual static, all while tears streamed down his cheeks. 

“Everything’s changed, hasn’t it?” 

Radford blinked at Salem. At some point, he’d been guided to sit down on his bed, and Salem sat in front of him with his legs crossed, but all the while that familiar, tender, cold hand still remained on his cheek. 

“Everything’s changed for me, too.” Salem’s sharp nail pressed against his cheek, dangerously close to slicing open the skin. “I don’t belong in this world. Things make more sense in my world, and I don’t have to see you. There, I know you’re dead. But you’re here, and you look just like him.” He leaned a little closer with an inquisitive look, and the scent of strawberries on his breath was tantalizing. “I wonder, still. If maybe I can finish the story a different way. Make an ending where the destiny written for me doesn’t control me. And maybe that reality will be better for both of us.”

All while the vampire spoke, his hands drifted from Radford’s cheek to his neck to his shoulder. He left a trail of goosebumps behind, but Radford couldn’t tell whether they were from the chill of his palm or not. He swallowed hard. 

“But you know what I have to do to get there.”

Radford knew too well. But he didn’t have the heart to tell Salem that it may not work. He was just like Streber in his ambition and Radford didn’t want to discourage it as much as the idea of spilling more blood disgusted him. His gaze lingered on Salem’s hand, now resting on his knees, bumpy with keratosis pilaris that he always picked at. A vague memory reminded him of how nervous he’d been to wear the shorts Streber chose for the Pierre costume, all because he wasn’t sure how people would react to the scabbed bumps. Someone had even filmed him freaking out about it to Streber and slipped it into the blooper reel. 

The blooper reel that he’d burned onto some copies of the film. 

“I should sleep,” he said simply as his insides screamed at the realization.

After another fleeting moment spent lapping up the blood on his lips, Salem ducked his head, about to climb down. He almost looked disappointed. “I won’t bother your dreams, then.”

Radford’s heart felt like it was about to beat out of his chest as his hand shot out to stop Salem; he didn’t want him to leave anymore. “You can sleep with me,” he blurted, although it had sounded much better in his head. Salem’s eyes widened to the size of golf balls as he sort of chuckled, and Radford cleared his throat to try and save it. He could never be that forward. “Not…not that way.”

While initially amused, Salem’s expression softened. He pulled back the covers and crawled to the far corner of the full-sized mattress. The metallic scent of somebody else’s blood hung heavy in the air, though it soon gave way to strawberries; Radford was too overwhelmed to fight back against the hallucination as he fell into the vampire’s icy embrace. A cold nose pressed against his pulse, and where he almost expected sharp fangs there were only soft lips that trailed up and up, higher to his own as the rain pounded on the roof.

His mouth tasted like strawberries, too. 

…..

Fog replaced the rain the next morning, and Radford only knew this due to a rude awakening. A lone, loud honk outside his window after a night that had run so late it was early by the time he finally slept. He rubbed his eyes before blearily rolling over to grab his glasses and check the time. 6:39. Not time to wake up yet, so he put his glasses back down.

As he resumed his comfortable position and tried to ignore the strange stinging in his neck, he stretched his legs, hearing the satisfying pop of his ankles before burying himself under his covers. He wasn’t upset when he discovered the rest of the bed empty; he’d even expected it. Even with all the cloud cover and the lack of direct sunlight, Salem shouldn’t take any chances during the daytime. At least they’d gotten to spend some time together, he thought, face flushing as he pressed it further into the blankets. 

One minute passed, then two, then three, then five, yet the honk continued to stretch into the morning.

“What the hell,” he grumbled. He could understand a car alarm going off for a couple minutes, maybe, but a honk? He threw his blankets off, and they slipped into a useless pile on the floor. Grabbing a pair of sweatpants and a random shirt, he pulled them on and stomped downstairs to find Jack somehow asleep with Paolo still snoozing on him, whiskers and nose twitching. The cat perked up as Radford shoved his feet into a pair of John’s sandals and braced to freeze his ass off the moment he walked outside.

The fog wasn’t so thick that he couldn’t see anything, though the immediate condensation made him have to take off his glasses and wipe them off. And when he did, he saw a familiar white van stopped at the stop sign at the end of the street, tail lights beaming red through the fog and reflecting on the black ice. Yet even though there was no one else on the street, the vehicle didn’t turn, didn’t keep going, the shadow in the driver’s window slumped.

All of his earlier frustration and grogginess melted away as he hurried carefully across the iced-over asphalt, through the deep blue dawn. Once he made it, he threw the unlocked door open to find Frank, strange eyes wide open and staring with his forehead pressed against the steering wheel. A massacre had taken place within, his ripped-out lungs dripping with blood. There usually wasn’t this much left behind Salem’s attacks - had Salem not drank any? Radford gently lifted the older man’s head off of the steering wheel and closed his eyelids, getting blood all over his hands as he did so. It seemed Salem had drawn a halo on Frank’s forehead, which had since dried, and Radford wondered if he’d done that to the other victims he hadn’t seen the faces of. He turned the dead man’s head from side to side so he could see if there were any bite marks on his neck, but there were none present. 

Once he turned the vehicle off and removed the keys, he took a peek in the back just in case Salem was still there. But the back was empty - or so he thought, until he noticed a small, red-headed kid who was curled up in a frightened, shivering ball. Oh god. “Are you okay, bud?” he called, but the kid didn’t look up. 

Deciding an unfamiliar face was the last thing they needed right now, he turned to go back to the house to get Jack and almost slammed right into him. The former cop’s hair was rumpled, but he looked otherwise refreshed from a good night’s sleep as he opened the van’s cabin door, climbed inside, and carried the traumatized child out. Now that Radford could see his tearstained, puffy, freckled face, he could tell who it was: Lucky, Joe Bloggs’ little brother, who surely wasn’t feeling so lucky right now. 

Before Jack could take Lucky to the house, though, he spoke up, his voice hoarse and high-pitched. “The monster said it would see you in seven days,” he said through his chattering teeth, twisting in Jack’s arms to look Radford dead in the eye. 

“Seven days?” Jack looked down at the boy, the lines between his brows growing more prominent, seeming to count in his head. “That’d be Christmas Eve, right?”

As much as Radford hoped it wasn’t the case, as he thought about it, he realized Jack was right. Christmas Eve. Which meant… what , exactly? That he’d have everyone killed by then as some sort of fucked up gift? And then, just as the sun peeked through the clouds to banish the fog, the light illuminating the most recent victim, the same happened in his mind. It was clear as day, now, what the vampire meant. 

“The parade,” he said, staring at the blood on his hands, feeling the ache in his neck worsen. “He’s going to kill Evermore.”

Notes:

1/9/2024

shockingly i'm not the biggest fan of this chapter, so i hope you guys like it more than i do. i'm probably going to go back and clean it up a bit.

-nyx

Chapter 17: SCENE SEVENTEEN

Notes:

2/23/2024

the beginning of the end.

the chapter was getting far too long, so i split it in two...which means an uneven number of chapters. not happy about that. however, hopefully splitting them up helps the flow! i hope you enjoy this first part of the finale. hopefully the next part will be out soon.

-nyx

Main Street was busier than Radford had seen in months. 

The parade was popular no matter the year, with almost everyone coming around to celebrate the holiday - even those who were typically reclusive could be found patronizing the artisan booths, perhaps purchasing something for a loved one. Children ran up and down the street, laughing all the way, cheeks rosy with mirth. Floats traversed the parade route as carolers walked alongside, bundled up in whatever silly holiday garb they wanted to wear. 

This year was no exception, although there was a certain dreariness mingling with the fog and every single person that was there. 

Well, not every single person. 

Narciso G. Evermore. What was there to say about him that Radford hadn’t already said before? That day, just like any other, he was dressed in a bespoke suit, tailored just flattering enough for him to appear as immaculate as he thought he was. It was a deep, almost navy blue that brought out his eyes but was cold and impersonal against the otherwise festive mood. He was there for a reason, but it wasn’t to celebrate. His eyes glimmered, odd and piercing through the fog, as though saying, “ Look what I’ve done.”

Radford stared back at him, and for a minute their gazes locked and Evermore’s smile gained a cruel edge to it. Then, he returned to surveying the crowd, waving like he was some sort of royal figure. But no. He was only a royal pain, his remaining assistants nothing but a court of jesters. With a sigh, Radford glanced up at Jack, who was frozen stiff. 

“Hey,” Radford said, nudging the former officer with his elbow. “You could have stayed home, man.”

Jack offered him a little smile in response, shaking his head no. He rubbed his hands together, the singular handwarmer pressed between them not doing its job well. “I need to be here just as much as you do,” he insisted, looking around the throngs that had accumulated behind the barriers. “Evermore won’t be able to pull everyone together if anything bad happens.”

“‘Specially if it happens to him.” Radford couldn’t resist the morbid joke, and though he tried, Jack couldn’t resist laughing at it. “Seriously, though, I get it. I’m just a little worried about you, and I wouldn’t blame you if you-”

He cut himself off when he noticed Jack’s expression: eyes narrowed, lips pursed. Right. He didn’t like people questioning him. So Radford just gave him a thumbs up and turned his attention to the float passing in front of them, adorned with silver and gold decorations. From the stack of giant, faux doughnuts in the middle meant to resemble a Christmas tree, it was clear it was the Gonuts display. In his periphery, Jack began fidgeting with his ring necklace like he always did nowadays, and Radford sighed. 

“I’ll leave you to it,” he said, patting the man’s back before leaving him by his lonesome. 

Radford walked down the sidewalk, narrowly avoiding getting run over by two little kids, both with armfuls of candy. There was a flash of pink, white, and blue then, and he already knew that was Kevin chasing after them. He hadn’t talked to Kevin much after the attack at the house, but it was good to know that his job brought back some semblance of normalcy. As much as the guy talked about hating his job, they both knew he couldn’t do without it. Maybe Radford could try his luck and apply there after the whole Salem situation blew over.

Who was he kidding. He wouldn’t survive working retail. 

The further he walked from the town hall, the quieter the sounds of the season got. He walked in the opposite direction of the parade route, hoping he could catch Salem that way. There was no doubt he’d let himself grow hungry for his last meal, and he would be unable to resist drinking from someone who didn’t deserve it had he tried to slip through a crowd. 

Radford touched the bite scars on his neck, which held a delicious tingle in them that he hadn’t felt before. He was unsure if he’d deserved them, but it was almost like they were telling him he was going the right way, that he was getting nearer. So he hurried past a booth handing out free hot cocoa samples, mumbled out an excuse for why he couldn’t take one (something about being sugar intolerant), and ducked into an alleyway just to run straight into Orion Scar. 

Hot cocoa spilled down the front of the actor’s denim jacket and he yelped, pulling the wet fabric away before it soaked into the green shirt underneath. “Dude!” he said, throwing the small paper cup down. The remaining drink spilled out and created a puddle on the ground, and he glared at the stain on his jacket, then up at Radford, with mismatched eyes. “Can’t even enjoy a fucking parade now- oh, it’s you.”

“Yeah.” Radford took a bashful step back, his hand still pressed over his scars. “Sorry, I didn’t expect you to be here.” 

Orion shook his head, waving his hands excitedly as he stepped closer. The paper cup crumpled under his heel. “No, no, don’t worry about it!” He smiled, apologetic. “I shouldn’t have yelled when I didn’t even know who I was yelling at. I’ve just gotten so used to being harassed by everyone - but I’m glad to see a friendly face.” 

The actor was preaching to the choir. Radford’s shoulders sank along with his nerves. “Me too,” he replied with a nervous laugh. Was Orion the ‘signal’ his bite marks were receiving? Did wounds from a projection do that? How weird, if so. “Man, though, I’m sorry people are still being dicks to you.” 

Orion waved his hands again before itching at his hat. It was probably itchy on his practically bald scalp. “It’s fine. I’m kinda used to paparazzi, just not…this kind.” He tilted his head. “Or…I guess I used to be used to it.”

“Used to be?” Radford echoed curiously, raising an eyebrow. “So you… know ?”

“Yeah, I uh- figured it out pretty soon after that thing tried to attack me.” Orion chuckled, pulling down the turtleneck of his sweater and revealing the static holes in his neck. “Honestly, it’s kind of freeing that I’m dead. I mean, it wasn’t freeing to find my own corpse in my back shed, and I glitched out for a bit, but after that…I dunno. I was less worried about the repercussions for things I haven’t done, which is why I finally left the house.”

That made sense enough. After all, anything the protesters could have done to the guy wouldn’t have seriously hurt him. “But you’re still wearing a disguise?” Radford asked, gesturing at his different colored contacts. 

“Well, nobody’s caught my disguise on camera, so nobody’d recognize it.” Orion leaned against the brick wall of the alley with a satisfactory smile. “Still hanging out back here till the parade comes by just in case.” He looked Radford up and down, from his scuffed Converse to his curly red hair. “So why’re you here? I mean, you’re clearly not here for the parade. Not very festive.”

“Nah,” Radford sighed, rolling up his sleeves and digging in his own jacket pockets for the bottle he’d stored in there before leaving the house that morning. He held it up for Orion to see, and the golden cross shone in the low light. “You remember that one movie you were in? As the priest?”

“Ugh, had to have been the worst movie I’ve ever been in.” Even as an A-list actor, Orion had still on occasion been in quite a few Z movies. The movie in question had been a dime a dozen ripoff of the Exorcist, and was one of his first before the Box Cutter shot him to stardom. It was also his first movie with Katie as his co-star. “Good times, though. So I’m guessing this is holy water?”

“Yep.” Radford swirled the bottle around, watching the water as it twisted into a miniature whirlpool. “Let’s just say the past came back to bite me.”

Orion tilted his head and squinted at Radford’s neck, noting the matching scars there. “Damn,” he whistled, pressing a hand to his own neck, now covered again. “Well, good luck with that - but if you don’t mind, I’d like to have as little connection with this as possible.” 

Radford didn’t mind at all. “I guess your last name works a little better now,” he mused, beginning to walk down the alley; the odd feeling lingered in his neck, drawing him further away. 

“Which one,” Orion called after him, his amused tone echoing off the tall, cold walls, “Albrecht?” 

So ‘Scar’ had been a stage name, a character in itself the whole time. Radford had always wondered. He laughed at the joke as he continued down the way, a little more warm inside than he had been before. But it didn’t last forever as he clutched the small bottle of holy water close. The tickle in his neck grew to a sting as the alleyways enveloped him in cold and shadow. 

It felt like hours as he wandered the maze that was downtown Los Ocultos, and only later, when he passed Orion’s alleyway again, did he realize it was because he was running in circles. The only signs of life he uncovered were the alleycats, a few rats, and roaches engaged in a strange dance around several empty packages of chips, so needless to say when Orion called out to ask how he was doing, Radford only groaned in response. He couldn’t help but wonder if maybe Salem - or whatever the stinging in his neck was - was leading him on a wild goose chase as he was pulled towards the abandoned theater this time, stumbling over icy puddles. 

Why would Salem go there, after all? Without Dexter sneaking around within the hallowed (and hollowed) walls, there would be no reason. 

The moment he stopped to collect his thoughts, a figure passed in front of the alley’s exit, limping their way towards Main Street in medical scrubs. They were frail and fragile, and the roots of their messy dark hair shone silver. But they were there, not an apparition, not a mirage borne from Radford’s frustration. 

“Dexter!” he called out, hurrying down the alley to them before they could escape his sights again. Their entire body grew tense, and they twisted to look at him with a wide, blank stare. As he neared them, he noticed they were near growing a beard, their stubble having grown longer to cover their gaunt cheeks; they’d aged decades during their stay at the hospital. They looked on the cusp of their own mother’s age, which almost twisted the knife of seeing them again. “What are you doing out of the hospital?”

Personality returned to Dexter’s expression, at least for a moment, and they huffed through their nose. “Oh, Popcorn Head. What a surprise.” They rubbed their goose-pimpled arms - they had to be freezing with nothing but scrubs on. “Of course you’d be here on Pride Day .”

Radford ignored the dig at his sexuality, knowing full well Dexter was the same, and took off his jacket, forcibly placing it over their shoulders. They looked like they wanted to argue, but didn’t end up saying a word. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“Well, I’m sure you find the hospital’s white and beige walls stimulating, but I hate the place,” Dexter spoke through chattering teeth. “And I’m just a sitting duck there. I know Stre- Salem expected me to die there.” They lowered their head, bangs shading their eyes. “Or was gonna finish the job. One of the two.”

“So you…” Radford looked their sickly frame up and down. Their clothes seemed to swallow them and definitely weren’t the right size. “So you stole some scrubs and made your great escape?”

“Eh, Vivifico had it coming,” Dexter said. Their smile was as sickening as it was gleeful. “The guy’s a total prick. If only he wore red, maybe the Box Cutter could’ve killed him instead.” 

Radford gawked at them, not even angry or upset at this point - just more shocked with every new word Dexter uttered. “You killed Dr. Vivifico?”

Dexter’s devilish smirk widened, sending a chill down Radford’s spine…and then it dropped away again. “Nah, I just wacked him in the head with a bedpan. Stole his scrubs. The works.” They gestured to the teal surgical scrubs they were wearing. “If I see Patty after this, she owes me big time.”

That still didn’t tell Radford why they’d left besides hating the hospital, but at this point what he was more curious about was why they were treating him like nothing had ever happened. Guilt still gnawed at him, and the fact Dexter wasn’t being particularly hateful only made it worse. “So what, you came here to watch Evermore die?”

Dexter itched at their heavily bandaged neck. Must have been one hell of a scab under there; Radford tried not to think too hard about it. “I know, probably a bad idea for me to be here,” they said, “since I’m already supposed to be dead and all.”

“So why are you here?”

The question hung in the air. Dexter turned to him, a wry smile on their face before they continued walking towards town hall. Maybe they’d been strung along by Salem’s thrall, just like Radford had - but either way, he followed them since he’d been chasing shadows for too long. He could hear the parade behind the two of them, which meant it was only a matter of time before the parade was over, and only a matter of time before Evermore’s big puff piece of a speech. 

Speaking of the speech, the mayor was already preparing for it on the steps of the hall, whispering to Garcia as he stacked his papers just so. He looked down his nose at what he thought were his loyal subjects and wrinkled it when he noticed Radford and Dexter walking together. He then ushered over a few cops that had been conversing nearby - one of them Radford recognized from the hospital protest - and had them stand between him and the townsfolk, like he was threatened by Radford’s noodle arms and Dexter’s frail, knifeless (?) body. 

Radford, meanwhile, scanned the sea of people for Jack, who was nowhere to be found. Dexter seemed to notice his disappointed expression as they pushed their glasses up their nose. “What, you were hoping Evermore would already be dead?”

“No, it’s just Jack.” Radford rose higher on his toes, knowing his shoes were scuffing on the asphalt. “He and I drove here together, but I can’t see him.”

For a minute, Radford thought Dexter might try to help, but they only took two casual glances left and right before shrugging. “If I were him, I’d be getting outta here too.” They waved their working hand at Evermore, giving him a smile that didn’t reach their eyes. “Even if the mayor doesn’t get slaughtered, his speeches are just as painful. Give me a bottle of tequila and you still couldn’t get me to say shit half as stupid.” And before Radford knew it, they’d flicked his forehead, their long nails nearly scratching him. “Even stupider than you, Popcorn Head.” 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, hush so I can see better.” Right as Radford was about to give up looking, he spotted the former deputy near a familiar stand: Michelle’s. Figures . Relief filled his body as his gaze lingered on the pink and yellow booth, a parade time favorite. It was stacked high with aromatic baked goods to the point Michelle was dwarfed by the boxes from behind the table. He felt a little mean for not believing in Jack, but just like Dexter said earlier, he wouldn’t have blamed him for leaving.

In fact, as the jolly parade music echoed off the dark buildings that loomed in the fog, drawing closer at a snail’s pace that still felt too fast, Radford wouldn’t have blamed anyone for it. 

Even with what he had to do - which he wasn’t quite sure of, now that he thought about it - he wouldn’t have blamed himself . 

Microphone feedback broke through Radford’s panic and he covered his ears with his palms just late enough to hear Dexter swear up a storm. Similar reactions rippled throughout the crowd, eventually culminating in a hush when the feedback finally ceased. There was a practiced chuckle from the mayor, apologizing for the terrible sound as if he didn’t do that on purpose every year to get everyone’s eyes on him. 

With that, Evermore beamed a bleached white smile over the podium at all the townsfolk. A light breeze buffeted his perfectly coiffed, salt and pepper hair, and he gestured one of his police officers forward to block the wind before he began his speech. He adjusted the papers, tapping them on the podium twice to ensure they were stacked just so, before beginning in a voice that was way too measured to be as happy as he tried to seem. “Hello and welcome to our twentieth annual holiday celebration! First of all, I would just like to thank everyone here for coming! All of you, patrons and vendors and sponsors alike, are the reason this tradition is still alive after all this time. It’s great to see the holiday spirit is ripe in the air even this year, in which our great town has seen equally great darkness.” The man paused for effect, an effect that was seen throughout the crowd as many bowed their heads, somber. “Yes,” he started up again, “great darkness. It has only grown darker over the past few weeks. Last night I found myself dreading even my own shadow, or the creak of that one pesky stair as I retired to my bedroom. I have installed many locks on my doors both in town hall and at home to assure myself nothing will happen.”

What a way to bring down the mood, Radford thought to himself as Evermore’s voice rang out through the newfound silence. There was not a peep to be heard from the carolers, nor the speakers on any of the floats that were now dispersing. Everyone was focusing on the speech more than they ever had in years past. Radford glanced at Dexter, who was sending longing glances towards their mother’s booth instead of pulling faces at Evermore. 

“But,” Evermore continued, standing taller, “I know I am far from alone in this. And that in itself, the community I feel with each and every one of you, the fact you all are counting on me to do the right thing for this town every step of the way, helps me regain my strength.” Oh brother. Radford wanted to puke. “I will do everything in my power to assure that no more tragedies occur here. No one else will lose a father, a mother, a son, a daughter. I will remove any roadblocks keeping us from this brighter future to assure the sun shines again on Los Ocultos and there will be no place for this darkness to hide.”

Even from several yards away, Radford saw Jack’s jaw clench and nostrils flare, and he gripped at his ring pendant so hard the former thought it might cut into his skin. As he watched the former officer, though, he thought he saw a shadow slipping through some of Michelle’s other potential customers. Both his and Dexter’s hands raised to their wounds as if in sync.

He was there.

At the podium, Evermore seemed to be finishing up; Radford must have zoned out for longer than he thought. “Los Ocultos has always been a prosperous town. Small, but prosperous, breeding greatness in every facet. Where would we be without our locally owned businesses, like Boys N’ Gri-” A murmur went through the crowd, and Evermore cleared his throat, shot a glare towards Garcia, and corrected himself, tugging humorously at his shirt collar. Must have been an old draft. “Gonuts? Or the CandyClub? What about the young artists and seasoned artisans selling their wares along the parade route? This is what these festivities are for, not just to celebrate the holidays, but to celebrate us, our greatness, our prosperity, our community.” He shot the crowd a winning smile. Radford cringed when he heard a few people swoon, like they’d forgotten his awful slip up just moments ago. “So please, everyone, enjoy yourselves today. Enjoy your holidays and allow the turn of the new year to breathe new life and light into our beloved town. The only way to go from here is up, and I, as your mayor, will help lead you there.”

The mayor spread his arms triumphantly, as though he expected jets to fly overhead trailing multicolored smoke, or perhaps an eagle to fly down and land on his shoulder. 

Instead, a familiar shadow rose behind the flawless mayor and slammed his head down against the hardwood of the podium, and the townsfolk didn’t even have time to clap before everything erupted into chaos.

Chapter 18: SCENE EIGHTEEN

It was as though everything had completely shifted. 

The tentative joy of the celebration had devolved into the primal fear that lurked beneath the surface. The crowd was nothing short of a tempestuous sea that Radford had to struggle not to get swept away by; somehow, he and Dexter, in all of their sickliness, managed to stick together amongst the cops, personnel, and parade goers rushing in every direction. 

Radford’s first thought was where was Jack ? Wasn’t he meant to keep control of the situation? He twisted his head to find Jack no longer near Michelle’s booth - in fact, he was nowhere to be found. Fuck. What were his other options? It wasn’t like Dexter was a trusted ally even though they weren’t mad at him anymore - but he couldn’t do this on his own. So he turned to the escaped patient, tugging on his ponytail nervously. “Dexter, do you see Jack?” 

“I think he’s a little busy dealing with Evermore,” Dexter snorted, pointing with their good hand at the stage. “Or did you miss that development?”

“ What ?!” Radford hadn’t seen much other than the pursuer slamming the mayor against the podium before cops rushed the stage. But looking around at everyone through the fog, they all appeared as shadows - and all of them, whether they knew it or not, took issue with Evermore. That must have been why Jack was so insistent on staying, why he’d had a significant mood boost over the past few days…

As Radford thought on what to do, Dexter rubbed their scruff of a beard. “I actually respect him a little more now. Didn’t think he was the type to rebel like this.”

“Yeah, and it’s gonna get him shot ,” Radford snapped, waving a hand at all the police officers now crowding around Jack and Evermore. For all he knew, there were no other officers opposing Evermore’s tyranny, which meant Jack was as good as dead even if he was on the right side of history. Radford heard a rip as he tugged harder at his ponytail and tossed a few curls at the ground in frustration. “Why does everyone keep doing this? Sacrificing yourself isn’t the way to-”

Dexter cut him off with a sharp jab to the chest. “Hey,” they said sternly, pointing back at the stage. “ This is what’s happening right now. You can cry about how guilty you feel after it’s over.” 

“No fucking shit!” Radford yelled, throwing his hands in the air. “That doesn’t help at all.”

Dexter grabbed his left hand and yanked it so it was flush against his side again. They had an expression that was hard to understand. “Never said it did,” they muttered. “I’m just reminding you: you know too much this time around to be the fool. So don’t act like one.” 

Radford swallowed hard, because deep down, he knew they were right. They’d been right about most everything - not that he’d been wrong per se, but Dexter throughout everything had been right in their own way, too. He nodded and turned his attention back towards the stage, towards Jack’s shoes which were the only part of him he could see through the fray. “Do you think he’s gonna be okay?” 

“No, I think he’s gonna look like swiss cheese by the time this is all over,” Dexter snorted, and Radford’s heart rate spiked - and the stinging in his neck grew a thousand times worse. But before he could so much as wince, maybe bring a hand to soothe it, the officers surrounding the podium dissipated, revealing the formerly glowing mayor with his hands cuffed behind his back. His hair had devolved from coiffed to bedheaded in a matter of moments, and his face no longer smiled like it did on his numerous billboards or campaign signs. 

“You have no standing in this town anymore, Jack!” Evermore spat, and his eyes, had they been able to, would have glowed as red with rage as his face. “You have no right to do this!”

“Actually,” Jack replied, his voice booming over the din, “ you have no right to argue. You lost that privilege the moment you forgot there are checks and balances in place to ensure you do not hold enough power to strip it from everyone else.” He leaned down so he was in the shorter man’s tomato of a face. “You’re just the mayor of a backwater town who’s so scared of being just that that you spent your whole mid-life crisis playing dollies with the townsfolk.” 

Whoa. Radford had never heard Jack this brutal - but he was liking it just about as much as he was liking the fact that the man wasn’t full of bullets. He almost didn’t notice the silhouette nearing the stage out of the corner of his eye, but when he did, he stiffened. Dexter seemed to see it too, from how they seemed to cower behind him. 

Jack was about to pass the belligerent ex-mayor into the actual officers’ custody, but before he could he was yanked backward into the fog with a sharp yelp. 

And the next moment, Salem finally emerged, claws tearing through the mayor’s pristine clothes and dirtying them with blood. And Radford watched as Evermore was rendered as small as every victim he’d cast aside in their final moments. A sick sort of satisfaction filled him as he watched the police do nothing, watched Jack come back out dusting his hands off as he looked at the monster Evermore’s negligence and false promises built. And much of the crowd around them was the same. They had seen so many actual horrors that they could do nothing but watch the spectacle as lungs were twisted into wings of a hellish, bloody angel. And just like always when his image was on the line, Evermore’s hands were tied - this time for his own downfall. 

Still, Radford had to wonder how it felt to feel that small. That helpless. He wondered if that was how every victim had felt. If that was how Streber had felt and looked. And, for Salem, or at least for the soul that had birthed him, if there was satisfaction in forcing that pain onto someone else, if maybe he liked it a little. 

Or if the will of his character was tormenting him into doing its bidding, prolonging the pain he’d felt. 

Maybe he was even horrified at just how much he was like his father now.

But Radford couldn’t stay for long as he felt a few tugs on his arm, growing in insistence. His eyelids fluttered as he came back to himself, out of his own perception and into reality. “What?” he asked, his heart heavy. 

“Come on, you big baby,” Dexter whispered, though it seemed so loud over the backdrop of devilish consumption. “If Salem’s here for any reason, it’s to get Evermore - then I’ll be next, and I don’t wanna stick around for that.”

Radford squinted through the fog again to find the vampire’s blood-spattered face looking in their direction. “...Right.” 

“Yeah, right.” The former exterminator rolled their eyes as they began to drag him away from the stage. Radford yanked his hand away and hurried along, past the almost statuesque bodies of the townsfolk. “Earlier, you asked me why I came here?” 

“Yeah?” Radford said, still dumbfounded from his realizations. “You just smiled.” 

“Do you know anything about extermination?” They asked, before reaching into Radford’s coat pockets and withdrawing his keys. Their soft jingle echoed as they twirled the carabiner around. Radford was about to answer, before Dexter, of course, interrupted. “Remember on Halloween how I made you throw out that box? Because the roaches had come out of it?”

“Not really? I kinda had other stuff on my mind that night,” Radford chuckled nervously, casting a glance over his shoulder as he heard a thud. Evermore’s body had dropped on the stage, and Salem’s eyes pierced through the fog at the two of them. He picked up the pace, now running towards Abraham, now the one pulling Dexter along. 

“Well, you remember how there were still roaches around after that job?” Dexter puffed. They clearly weren’t well enough to be running, but adrenaline seemed to be doing wonders for them. They clicked the button to unlock Abraham’s doors and they both got in the front seats, locked the doors, and started the car. Dexter then turned to Radford, who had one hand on the wheel, the other still hovering over the lock mechanism. “It’s because the box wasn’t the source, just the attractant. I didn’t follow them to see where they were really coming from because I also had other stuff on my mind that night.” 

“Okay, okay,” Radford cut them off before they could make him too jealous to save them. “What are you getting at?”

“Like I said, I was a sitting duck at the hospital,” Dexter said, gesturing at themself, frail and bony. Even if Salem were to attack them again, it wouldn’t be for food or satisfaction - just out of desperation to end the ritual. “So if I attract him back to his source, his nest, then…maybe we can stomp h-” They turned towards the empty parking space in front of them, and in a split second, their matter-of-fact expression twisted into one of terror. “Oh , fuck, DRIVE, DRIVE, DRIVE! ”

Radford turned, too, just in time for Salem to land on the hood of the van with a loud thud. Thick blood dripped from his gaping, slobbering maw, dripping onto the windshield as his eyes narrowed. Had he any breath, it would have fogged the glass as he glowered at the two of them in the safety of the car.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Dexter growled, reaching between the seats and shifting the gear into drive. The vehicle started to crawl forward and, with muscle memory taking the wheel, Radford stepped on the gas. 

The old car screamed down the street, and though they certainly tried, Salem’s claws could not grip the metal for very long. He tumbled up and over Abraham, and Radford refused to look in the rearview mirror, not wanting to see anything close to Streber’s mangled body on the asphalt. “So,” he said, voice strained. “By ‘source’ you’re talking about-”

“His apartment, yeah.” Dexter seemed just as bothered by the idea of Salem being hurt as Radford was, their voice tight. “I uh, put his projector there because he said he’d rather not have to sleep in the dingy theater when daytime came along.”

Radford nodded, a little put off by the explanation. Wouldn’t it just be common sense to put someone back in their home? But he didn’t want to ask that, because there was another question well on its way to burning out. “Um, I hope this isn’t a weird question, but…”

“No such thing.” Dexter gestured for him to continue, though Radford was sure that once they heard the question they’d regret it.

“...Before you went to the hospital, you said you brought him back because I did it first?”

Eerie silence filled the car as Radford turned down the road to the apartment complex. For a moment he wondered if he should’ve just kept his trap shut, but right then, Dexter ducked their head and began their explanation.

“The night Bob Velseb died,” Dexter said, their left hand moving to grip their right wrist. “I think that was what pushed me over. That was the day I got back from the hospital. I was pretty pissed that my mom wasn’t letting me go back to my own place, but then I saw you smoking out the window. Then it turned into a whole day spent watching you, because I was worried !” They chuckled bitterly, incredulously , and for a moment Radford was worried they might do something about their anger again - but they just continued to hold their wrist. “Fucking stupid of me. I started to see all these people in your room. And I’m not stupid. In the hospital, see, I spent most of my time thinking about the projections. So when I saw Streber up there, I guess that’s when I knew what happened.” They sucked in a deep, shuddering breath. “And then I saw Salem and how you didn’t even acknowledge him when he left. Nor when he came back all covered in blood and guts. You left him on the doorstep till morning, and even then you just turned off your projector like he was nothing before you went back to sleep.”

Radford swallowed down the growing lump in his throat. He really had no idea; he’d thought those visions Salem showed him a week ago were just more tricks. But they were real and he felt terrible, because if everything he’d learned about Salem’s existence so far was true, it must have been nothing short of purgatory. “And so you thought you could do better?”

“I didn’t,” Dexter sighed, shaking their head. Just shaking . “I knew- know I can’t. But I wanted to try.” Their grip tightened around their wrist to the point their knuckles turned white. “I thought maybe if he were to be as monstrous as I was, maybe I’d feel less terrible about myself and what I wanted to do to you. Maybe he could even do it for me. But I guess maybe I didn’t understand his story as much as I thought. And maybe he understood mine more than I thought.” A humorless chuckle fell from their lips. “What really fucking hurts the most was that it’s really him in there. Not just his character, but him, too.”

So Radford’s ‘blooper reel’ theory had been proved correct, too. All the more reason to put this to rest. “I know,” Radford said, pulling into the nearly empty parking lot of Streber’s old apartment building. The area the neighbor had fallen was still plastered with caution tape, and the window itself had been boarded up to protect against the elements. Strangely enough, Streber’s, now Salem’s, had not. “But Dexter?”

“Yeah?” 

“Streber - the real one - he really loved you.” Radford hesitated, before turning the car off and his head towards his…friend? “If there’s one thing I know, one thing I’m sure about, it’s that, man.”

The exterminator took a shuddering breath. “I don’t want to die, Radford.”

“We won’t,” Radford reassured them as his fingers toyed with the door lock. He finally glanced in the rearview mirror, spotting a lone silhouette limping along in the fog. “We both owe it to him to get better. But first, we have to let him rest in peace.”

Chapter 19: SCENE NINETEEN

Notes:

4/30/2025

all righty folks i am tired of spinning my wheels on this chapter. so i’ll probably be editing some phrasings in the near future. but this is the last one. the finale. there will be a post credits (epilogue) of course that ties up any other loose ends, but i hope for now this is good enough. to be frank, this story has stressed me out to no end but i think for something that was never supposed to exist in the first place it ended up pretty all right. definitely not going to write any unplanned sequels ever again, though. SORRY i know this sounds super pessimistic. i’m happy with how this fic turned out. but i’m also still not happy. if that makes sense

-nyx

In limbo. 

That was the only way Streber could have ever described it as he bled out across the rug in his bedroom. For once in his life of pain, he couldn’t feel anything. His head was heavy as he turned it to stare at the Box Cutter, uniform no longer spic and span as he climbed out the window like Streber meant nothing. Unsure whether it was because the Box Cutter was too worried about “Mel” or if it was just because he hadn’t even tried to scream, Streber decided to count his blessings and sink into the floor, knowing and accepting that he’d be beneath it soon enough. 

He hadn’t remembered what happened next, but when he opened his eyes the next time he was in the hospital. There was a vase of orchids, his favorite flowers, on the bedside table, and whatever drugs he was on made them look like they were waving at him. He lifted his hand and waved back, only to find an IV in his arm. Weird. 

Hours later, that evening, he ate dinner and got sick promptly afterwards. Instead of alerting the nurse, he lifted his dirty hospital gown away from his numb skin to find himself heavily bandaged, a multitude of stitches holding his skin together. Wounds similar to his mother’s. He got sick again. 

He wondered why he was still alive for days until he felt a pull and suddenly…wasn’t anymore. 

All that remained was that which he owed to the camera, the pieces of his soul that he’d sold to be projected in a different light…

…..

Radford waved his hand through the bright light emitting from the projector, watched the motion send numerous dust particles flying about. There was nothing special about it, save for what was playing. Seemingly a never ending loop of vampiric slayings was displayed on the wall, artistically framed in a way that Radford just couldn’t understand anymore. 

Other than that, the room was empty, with only a few creature comforts to its name. In the corner was a makeshift bed, tucked safely from the dim light shining through the broken windows. It was unmade and more like a nest, and Radford spotted a journal amongst the amalgam. As he looked around the cold, lifeless dwelling in earnest, though, he noticed Dexter still standing stick straight, with their back against the bedroom door. 

“What’s wrong?” Radford asked, even though the question seemed stupid the moment it left his lips. 

“This whole thing.” Dexter twisted, looking at the splintered wood behind them. “Mostly that I turned my friend into a monster. But other than that, I guess…what a fucked up town we live in.” They chuckled bittersweetly. “No wonder there aren’t churches around here. Father Gregor couldn’t even handle what happens here.” There was a faint, tinkling sound of windchimes, filtering through the window from the balcony next door. “I wonder every day if maybe I’d grown up even fifteen minutes outside of town, I would’ve turned out different. Better. Maybe everybody would’ve.”

“Tch, I wish. I grew up in Cali.” Radford sank down to his knees in Salem’s nest, plucking the notebook from a threadbare scrap of blanket. The wire spirals holding it together dragged the fabric, which had gotten caught, along with. 

“Let me guess, the City of Angels?” Dexter snickered, stepping away from the door and instead crouching next to Radford. “Is that where you got your movie obsession from?”

“Nah. I got it from my parents, actually. We lived closer to San Diego, maybe an hour or so from the ocean.” He and Streber had actually gone out there for a couple days for their senior trip, which he hadn’t thought about in forever. For a split second, he wondered if that was another reason Salem kept showing him the field, but…no, he hadn’t taken Streber there, had he? “I was probably six when my dad gave me his old camera, so I shot lots of home movies with that. Mostly stupid shit or little skits. Then grew from there.” 

Dexter hugged themself, teeth chattering from the cold as they said under their breath, “Well, you did a good job of it.” Still gripping the notebook, Radford shot them an odd look, while Dexter just rolled their eyes. “Hey, I can recognize art when I see it.” 

“Well, thanks.” Radford finally opened the notebook after unhooking the blanket from the wire, thumbing through pages upon pages of bloody fingerprints smudging what had been written there. It was an old notebook, he quickly realized, not one that Salem was currently writing in - just looking through. Which meant there likely wouldn’t be anything of much use. He reached the last page, which confirmed his thoughts, and groaned. “Dammit.” 

Dexter craned their neck to look at the bloody notebook. “What were you even looking for?” 

“I thought you were confusing,” Radford sighed, placing the notebook back in the nest and sitting back on his heels. He itched at his neck, his wounds choosing that moment to throb. “I wish Streber was here to figure out his own psyche.”

“Why do you need to figure stuff out?” Dexter asked, a twinge of frustration in their voice. “I thought the plan was to lure him away from the parade so he wouldn’t hurt anyone else and turn off the projector when we got here.” They glanced at the projector in question, which was still quietly playing the short film. A regretful smile crossed their lips for a moment before they pursed them again. “Right?”

Radford wished it could be that easy - and despite Dexter’s nonchalance, he knew it wouldn’t be that easy for them, either. But there was also a twinge in his heart that told him that wasn’t the right way to stop this from happening again. If his theory about the projections had been right, then that meant Streber’s soul was tied to everything they’d ever made together. Which meant he’d never be free so long as any copies remained. 

At the same time, he couldn’t bear the thought of destroying the memories they’d built together. Now that he knew for sure that Streber was gone, the memories truly would be the only thing keeping him alive, and Radford didn’t think he could handle something so intangible as that.

“I want to say goodbye, at least,” he finally said, which wasn’t exactly a lie. “It feels a little barbarian to just turn it off without even saying anything.”

“Easy for you to say,” Dexter muttered.

“You’re the one who got mad you didn’t get to say goodbye last time.”

“Yeah, but he wasn’t trying to kill me last ti-”

A loud thud at the front door cut the argument off, and, in tandem, their heads snapped in the direction of the sound. The moment they did, the stinging buzz in Radford’s neck started up again. Dexter’s working hand flew up to cover theirs, their teeth gritting as they stood up and stumbled towards the projector.

Once Radford realized what they were doing, he grabbed their ankle and yanked them off balance. “No!” he insisted, his voice shrill with desperation. “I told you. We aren’t dying today!”

Catching themself against the wall before they could tumble all the way, Dexter kicked at his hands, trying to knock them off. Instead, Radford only tightened his grip. “I know, you keep saying that,” they said, their eyes almost…pitying as they looked down at him. “But if you want me to trust you, it has to be mutual. And I’m telling you, trust me, letting him in isn’t a great idea.” Their sentence was punctuated by another slam at the door that made them wince. 

“Yeah, sure, maybe,” Radford shouted over the din. “Or are you just scared?” Dexter scoffed, which Radford perceived as a resounding “yes.” Reaching into his pocket, he felt around until his hand closed on a familiar glass bottle, his thumb tracing the cross engraving as he held it out to them. “Come on, have a little faith.” 

Dexter stared at the bottle, then squinted as they looked up at Radford again, an accusatory look on their face. “Where’d you get this?” 

“Gregor. Where else would I get it?” Radford said, swirling the bottle and creating a tiny whirlpool within. “If you’re that worried, take it.” 

The former exterminator’s hand closed around the tiny bottle. They held it to their face, inspecting the engraving and watching the watery bubbles dance in circles. “Gunshots don’t work on projections, so how is holy water supposed to?” 

“We’ll see,” Radford said, before standing up and opening the bedroom door. He watched the wood of the front door bow with every slam against it, not strong enough against the superior strength of a vampire. Steeling himself as he was hit full force with memories of the last time he’d opened the door in this apartment, he gripped the knob and twisted it sharply to the right. 

Immediately, he was thrown off his feet as Salem tackled him - though it didn’t seem intentional, more like he’d just been about to throw himself at the door again. Radford’s face was red as the blood dripping from the corners of Salem’s stained lips. The metallic odor assaulted his nostrils for only a split second before rescinding and becoming that of juicy strawberries, and all the bloodlust in Salem’s eyes went with it. 

“Oh,” they both said at once, and Salem reached behind Radford towards the wood flooring and knocked wood just like Streber, in all his superstitious glory, used to. “You owe me a soda,” the vampire murmured, climbing off of Radford, seeming flustered as well. In a matter of moments, Salem had reverted into Radford’s dear friend. God how he wished it could be enough to make him regret what he had to do.

“So,” Salem started, reaching effortlessly behind himself to shut the front door, advancing rather quickly towards his bedroom. “We both know why I’m here.”

Radford knew all too well why. He stood between Salem and the now-closed bedroom door, spotting Dexter peering through the gashes the Box Cutter had left in it. Attempting to give them a reassuring nod, he jerked his chin at them just to stumble over the edge of the plain rug on the floor and into the door, throwing it wide open. 

Fuck.

“Thanks for making my job easier,” Salem’s voice taunted as he stepped over Radford, nearing Dexter who, by this point, had shrunk into the corner near the demon’s nest. “You know, for all the horror movie knowledge you have, you’re a bit too cliche for your own good.” 

“I guess art imitates life,” Radford murmured, clambering back to his feet helplessly as he watched Dexter try to uncork the bottle. Without two hands, it was giving them trouble and Radford felt stupid for neglecting to think about that. 

Salem took the bottle, cruelly uncorked it, and set it on an empty shelf to the side, kneeling down next to Dexter. “Let’s stop messing around and get this over with,” he said, licking his lips as he cornered the former exterminator, prowling towards them like a cat towards a mouse. 

And as much as Radford wanted to, he couldn’t just spectate on the sidelines again, watching this happen in front of him. He was as much a part of this movie as he was the last one. 

Heart pounding in his ears, he reached around Salem, grabbed the uncapped holy water from the shelf, and threw it at the demon.

Static sores multiplied across Salem’s skin, and a glitchy yell cut through the near silence of the apartment. The vampire spun on his heel and shoved Radford across the room; the latter landed with a winded oomph against the wall. “What’s wrong with you?” Salem asked in that mildly annoyed way Streber always did when he was angry. As he stepped closer, he pressed a palm to one of the sores on his arm, only to pull his hands away with a broken hiss as well. “Why would you do that?”

To be honest, Radford didn’t quite have an answer that either of them would want to hear. So he didn’t provide it, just gripped the half empty bottle firmly in front of himself. 

“After everything I’ve done to be with you,” Salem continued, his body still glitching. As the holy water continued to drip down his skin, it opened up more static wounds. It had to be torture. “I never wanted to kill anyone. But it was the only way.”

“Yeah, because like you said,” Radford replied, his voice shaking. “You aren’t supposed to be here in the first place.”

Salem growled, still advancing despite the holy water Radford was trying to use to keep them apart. “I would belong here if you’d just let me finish what I have to do.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder at Dexter, who was staring, wide-eyed, at the whole display. Their gaze flicked to the projector, and Radford shook his head at them. “Lust needs to die,” Salem said. “Their death’s long overdue and you know it.”

“What will change if you finish it?” Radford tried to rationalize. Streber at least was very rational, very logical - maybe Salem would be, too. “In the story you came from, nothing changed. You regretted everything you’d done.”

Salem shook his head. “But I can change it. A part of me wrote it, so I can change it.” He reached out a hand for the holy water bottle in desperation. “Come on, let me change it. Pride’s already dead. He can’t take you away from me.”

All of a sudden, Radford’s eyes widened.

Pride.

Pride had been the deadly sin that had killed Pierre in the original story. But the more he thought about it, the more he remembered something else that was key to the original story: Salem’s sins. Something so heavily layered in metaphors as that hadn’t translated well through the projector lens - it couldn’t have. 

“You didn’t kill Pride,” Radford said slowly, hoping he was right about this as Salem’s eyes went wide with confusion - or was that recognition? “You didn’t kill Pride because all of the sin characters were representations of your own, Salem. You were too proud to be happy with what you already had that you made up an elaborate ritual to make it what you wanted it to be.”

There was a good minute where they just stared at one another, blinking, just blinking. It was so quiet, Radford could hear the whirring of the projector harmonizing with the neighbor’s windchimes.

And then Salem collapsed to his knees, the carpet twisting and changing into the grass that had haunted Radford’s mind for weeks. A warm breeze carried the luscious aroma of strawberries through the apartment. 

“You’re right,” the vampire muttered through the false birdsong, rubbing at his eyes and smearing the heavy eyeliner beneath them. Choking out a laugh, he lowered his head, staring at the sparkling droplets rolling down his arms. “Guess I failed the media literacy test this time.”

Radford took the opportunity to tentatively reach around him, grabbing a blanket from the grass and wrapping it around Salem’s shoulders for him to dry off with. He looked behind the projection at Dexter, who was back to hugging their arms around themself, though they soon scooted a little closer to Salem too, lips pursed in a hard line.

Meanwhile, Salem’s dark eyes remained fixated on the dandelions swaying in the wind, even when Radford knelt down and rested his weight against him. It took a couple minutes for Dexter to join them, and a few more for Salem to speak again. “I would’ve been stuck here whether I killed Dexter or not,” he mumbled, “because you, just like Pierre, were also a sin, Radford.”

And before Radford knew it, the static-ridden body next to him was standing up, walking over to the projector in the middle of the room with a thoughtful look. Dexter stiffened, as did Radford. 

“In limbo,” Salem said, running his fingers along the metallic tripod the projector was sitting on. Those claw-like fingers skirted around the button that would end it all, before looking up at the two with a weary smile. “It really is a good term for it.” 

Click.

…..

It took about half an hour of sitting on the bench outside the apartment building, cold gnawing at his bones, for Radford - and likely Dexter, too - to process what had happened. 

This was, of course, after a media storm and a thorough check in an ambulance to ensure nothing was physically wrong with either of them. Despite Dexter’s medical escapade, they had been cleared, too, though they both knew that meant they’d be staying with their mom for another couple of months as they healed. 

“I guess we’ll be neighbors for a while, then,” Dexter mused after calling their mother, tugging the space blanket provided by the first responders more tightly around their shoulders. They kicked at the snow, revealing a patch of dead grass that’d been hidden beneath it; when Radford didn’t respond, they elbowed him in the side to rouse him from his weird daze. “Hey. Popcorn Head.”

“Hm?” Radford lifted his “popcorn head”, his hair finally freed from its ponytail for the first time in a while. It felt nice blowing in the wind, cold as it was.

“This feels like a dumb thing to ask, but are you gonna be all right?” 

Radford thought about it for a minute. Sure, Salem was gone, and the film’s DVD was tucked safely in his jacket pocket, never to be played again. He was happy that both he and Dexter had made it out this time. Still, there was a lingering part of him that felt so lost knowing that Salem wasn’t there. Or, rather, that he couldn’t even bring the real Streber back to make up for all of this. There was something that now seemed so selfish and cruel about dragging someone from their grave in that way, from peaceful eternal slumber back to life in a world that was no longer theirs and never would be. 

But even more than that, still, there was an intense longing for the world as it had been to Radford. Not even just for Streber to be a part of it, but for everything to back to any semblance of normalcy. He wanted to have the field of his dreams back. He wanted his parents. He wanted to sit blissfully unaware of the realities of the horror movies he watched time and time again. 

But he didn’t belong to that world anymore, either. 

“Radford?” 

How awful it was to hear Dexter using the right name. He must have been wearing his thoughts on his face just as thoroughly as he wore his heart on his sleeve. 

“I’ll be all right,” he finally said, his voice tight like he wouldn’t be. “Eventually.”

A small, black car pulled up to the curb then, beeping twice, and Radford spotted Gregor behind the wheel, with Michelle waving enthusiastically from the passenger’s seat. The back was piled with boxes of baked goods; Radford wondered how Dexter would even fit back there. Whether they would or not, though, they pushed themself off the bench before clapping Radford on the shoulder. “Well, that’s me,” they said as Radford waved at Michelle and Gregor. “I won’t tell you not to be a stranger, ‘cause I’m kind of tired of seeing you.”

“Thanks,” Radford grumbled through gritted teeth. Leave it to Dexter to be sincere and heartfelt.

What they said next, though, was so quiet as they hurried away that Radford almost didn’t hear it. Maybe he wasn’t supposed to, but he appreciated it anyway. 

And then Radford was cold and alone again. 

But maybe, just maybe, for the first time in months, he could sit with it. 

Chapter 20: POST-CREDITS

It was dark by the time Jack finished up his paperwork. Too late to enjoy the sunset, early enough to enjoy the warm twilight breeze when he walked out of the building to go home.

After turning off the lights and tucking his manila folder under his arm, he shut the large double doors behind him, a soft click punctuating his departure from the room he’d made his home for the past several hours. Another day, he thought to himself as he looked down at the confidential folder, brow wrinkling with slight worry although he knew it, ultimately, would be fine. His gaze drifted from it to the hand that was gripping it, more specifically to the ring situated around his finger. 

Yeah. It’d be fine.

He bid the remaining employees, mostly janitorial staff and a few other lower level municipal workers, adieu, leaving them behind as he stepped into the warm, spring evening and sucked in a deep breath of fresh air. 

After all, the mayoral office, even with its lack of Narciso Evermore portraits, was still incredibly stuffy. 

Jack watched as the ring on his finger gleamed, reflecting the new streetlights that dotted Main Street. They had certainly been a worthy expense, ensuring the townspeople’s safety as they walked to and fro work or even leisurely activities. Jack himself felt much safer, and it was clear he wasn’t the only one, just counting the number of dogs happily being walked by their owners. He used to never see that.

Music poured out of a restaurant nearby, and he spotted a familiar curly mop of blonde hair as he strode past the window. Peeking inside, he spotted - sure enough - Robbie, Ross, and Roy performing a cover to some eighties song, while plenty of people looked on in amazement at the young teens’ talent. 

He even spotted John and Hope in the crowd, the latter performing some sort of goofy, interpretative dance in front of everyone. All three of the boys’ shoulders were shaking like they were trying not to laugh, while John just looked on fondly. He met Jack’s gaze through the window and waved, a smile visible beneath his burly mustache for the first time in what felt like forever. Jack waved back. He wanted to go inside and visit with him, but…maybe later, as there were more important things to attend to. 

The soft breeze rustled the leaves of the cherry trees lining the street, sending petals dancing across Jack’s field of vision. Removing his suit jacket, he shook it a few times, causing a few of the blooms to dislodge and fall to the ground as well. Such clingy, yet beautiful flowers, and what a privilege to have those covering the streets rather than the blood of several months ago. There were memorial beds for the fallen victims all along Main Street. Naturally, Carmen’s family had asked whether she could have a better memorial than something as dinky as a tree with a few flowers around it, but Jack simply replied that it wouldn’t match the rest of the street and didn’t accept the bribe to change his mind. 

Finally, he made it to a familiar set of wrought iron gates and, though he knew it was meant to be closed this hour, withdrew a key from his pocket to unlock the padlock at the front. 

It didn’t take much walking to find a young man knelt in front of a small grave, his hands clasped together not in a prayer but likely just so they wouldn’t shake out of control. 

“Hey,” Jack said softly, settling in the grass next to the redhead, folding his legs and setting his suit jacket on his lap. “How’re you doing?”

”Fine.” Radford dropped his hands back to his own lap, gripping his knees, just to have to bring them up to his eyes as a few small tears slipped out. “God. Um. Sorry, just…I can’t believe it’s been half a year.” 

It had been half a year already…Jack already knew yet still had somehow been taken by surprise. “Time flies, I guess.” There was a little nod from the redhead in response, but he didn’t seem to feel like talking. For a moment, Jack wondered if he should tell Radford the contents of the folder or not, but ultimately decided he had to. At least, what he had now. “Can I talk to you about something?”

”Go ahead,” Radford replied, leaning back easily against the trunk of the willow tree. “Lay it on me.” He picked up a crown of willow branches that he’d seemingly discarded earlier. “Lemme guess, mayoral business?”

”Sort of.” Jack withdrew the folder from beneath his arm. “So, as you know…for the past several months, we have been picking apart every address known to the Velseb family. Sure, we found the bodies at the restaurant - thanks in part to Salem - but there were even more spread amongst his family’s properties.”

”Were there any at Streber’s house?”

Jack squinted at the reports, then shook his head. “None were discovered there.” Radford started to look relieved, which made the news Jack had to deliver to him next even more heartbreaking. “However, as you know, Patty has also been spending these past several months identifying every single body that has come across her table. Comparing dental records and DNA with that of cold cases from the area.” Jack paused, not for effect, but just because he wasn’t sure how to say it. “Radford…we found two bodies a few days ago, buried in the rose garden at his old house.” Finally, the mayor handed the folder to Radford. There were no photographs, only diagrams and test results, but it was enough for Radford to dip his head in understanding. “Patty identified them as your parents.”

There was another slow nod, and then Radford handed the folder back, looking up through the long, hanging branches of the willow that was doing all his weeping for him. “Is it bad that I can’t even cry anymore?” he murmured. “I don’t have the tears for it right now. I’m mostly just glad that I know where they are.”

“Believe me, I understand,” the mayor replied honestly, setting a gentle hand on the young man’s shoulder after he tucked the folder back under his arm. 

The pair spent a few minutes in silence that felt more like eons. 

“Take care of yourself, Radford,” Jack finally said as he stood up, his knees popping a little. He’d been sitting in one position way too long that day. “You’re gonna stay here for a little longer?”

”Yeah, a little.” Radford reached over to place the willow crown on Streber’s headstone. Jack didn’t miss the soft smile on his face as he did. “Dexter’s supposed to be here soon, though.” 

“I’ll never understand why you two can’t mourn at the same time.”

”Respect,” Radford said, though he immediately seemed unsure as he tilted his head in thought. “I mean, I really dunno if that’s what it is for them, but…that’s what I call it.”

What a weird acquaintance those two had made. Oh well - just like earlier, Jack had more to worry about. He started to walk back down the grassy hill, leaving Radford enveloped in the willow. “Well, in any case…have a good night.”

”Say hi to Paolo for me,” the ginger called after him, his voice echoing in the quiet night. 

Jack relocked the gates behind him. He knew Radford could always find his way out, and if Dexter was coming, they could always find their way in - and there was no reason to worry about any of it anymore as he walked along through the night. 

And this time, for the first time in Los Ocultos history, no one stalked behind as the streetlights illuminated his way into the town’s much brighter future. 

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 2 of REEL TERROR