Chapter 1: Nice Boys
Notes:
This work contains canniblism and gore. Lots of gore.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The Killers… Are Not Humans!
He glanced at the bold headline in today’s Daily Mail that the passenger beside him was reading, but quickly lost interest. The news felt repetitive at this point. Despite everything happening around them, people still had their own lives to live.
Eight-thirty.
He checked his watch again. It was a second-hand watch he had bought for himself to celebrate his graduation after saving for quite some time. It wasn't anything extraordinary, just a decent watch to present to potential employers to show that he was serious about his new role as a hardworking individual. His stomach panged with hunger in the early morning. After facing one rejection after another, a new uni graduate like him, whose finances had already been drained by rent, had simply given up on the idea of maintaining a balanced three-meal-a-day schedule.
This isn't good.
He clutched the flimsy document bag, made of cheap synthetic leather, tightly to his chest amid the crowded morning commute on the tube. It was already the middle of September, and he found himself in the same situation as several weeks ago—jobless and without a source of income.
Once the train reached a stop, a crowd of people rushed past the young man standing near the exit. He held the bag tightly, carefully avoiding any potential squishing from those passing by. He glanced up at the route map, squinting as he tried to see how many stops were left.
Still a lot.
He sighed to himself, silently praying that he wouldn't be late for the upcoming interview. He had never heard of this company or business before. When he received the phone call from the employer, he was somewhat alarmed by how young the voice sounded. The employer didn't provide much information about the position, only stating that they needed an able-bodied man willing to undergo some self-sacrifice. It seemed like it might be a start-up desperate for anyone passionate. Frankly, he had no idea what to expect. Regardless of how sketchy it sounded, he hadn't had a single job interview in at least two weeks, sending out numerous resumes.
As the train made each stop and passengers came and went, he gradually realized that he was leaving the part of London he knew well. The people around him were dressed in construction uniforms and safety gear, and the floor was dirty and muddy. He tried to imagine what kind of view awaited him outside—perhaps chimneys spewing smoke and large construction pits scattered around. It certainly didn’t sound pleasant.
The young man began to wonder if he was being deceived into taking a factory job. Perhaps that was why the employer was so eager to give him a chance. They might need some more reliable components for their mass assembly lines, but that was certainly not what his degree had prepared him for. As he contemplated whether he should walk away from this questionable opportunity, the train arrived at his stop. He reluctantly got off the tube, clutching the bag tightly to his chest. As he stepped into the bright morning sunlight after emerging from the underground, he felt himself start to sweat. It was hard to tell whether it was the heat or the nerves about the upcoming interview he was still unsure about attending.
Despite his hesitation, he chose to go ahead. It's just an interview; it wouldn't harm him. If he found the job offer unappealing, he could simply walk away.
That’s right, he reassured himself, there's nothing to stop him from doing so.
After taking a turn at the crossroad as instructed by his employer, he discovered rows of warehouses and what seemed to be abandoned buildings lining both sides of the road. There wasn’t a single person in sight, and the silence was unsettling.
Not a single person, besides—
“Hello!”’
A person leaned against a brick wall and called him. His voice was bright and energetic, just like the one he heard on the phone.
“You must be Jimmy, am I right? You’re here for the job?”
He seemed to be around the age as Jimmy. The man wore a red woolen vest over a long-sleeve white shirt, and his blonde hair was a few shades darker than Jimmy's. As the man extended his hand toward him, Jimmy took it instinctively.
That hand was icy cold, however. It almost stung him.
“That’s me!” Jimmy awkwardly withdrew his hand, trying to hide his discomfort. “And—?”
“Oh? Me?” The man halted for a second. “You can—uh, call me Mr. Poultry.”
Jimmy almost laughed but swallowed it instead. Sometimes, people had unfortunate names that they couldn't easily change. He really should be more mature about that.
“Mr. Poultry,” Jimmy said politely. “Nice to meet you. Could you show me the way?”
Mr. Poultry appeared to appreciate his attitude. He smiled at Jimmy and gestured for him to follow. Although the smile seemed kind, it made Jimmy uneasy.
After walking in silence for several minutes, he finally pinpointed the cause.
It was those eyes. Mr. Poultry had a pair of black eyes, and there was nothing unusual about them, just like anything else about him. However, people—almost everyone on Earth—tend to move the muscles around their eyes when they interact with others. This could be a simple movement of the eyebrows, a slight raise of the eyes, or any number of subtle expressions.
They say the eyes were the windows to the soul, but this man had none.
“How long is the trip?” Mr. Poultry suddenly asked, turning to Jimmy with another of his uncanny smiles. “Which part of the city do you live in?”
“I—I live around Hyde Park,” Jimmy said, stuttering slightly. “It was a forty-minute commute. It wasn't terrible.”
“Oh, that’s great news to hear!” Mr. Poultry exclaimed, clapping his hands. His voice remained upbeat, but there was an underlying emptiness to it. When his eyes quickly scanned Jimmy’s tense expression, Jimmy felt a shiver run down his spine. “Mind if I ask you a few questions along the way?” After Jimmy nodded in agreement, Mr. Poultry continued, “Are you—let’s think of a word—athletic?”
“Uh… Do I do sports?”
“Yeah. Any sports in general. I count jogging as a sport, too.”
“I’m afraid not…” Jimmy said, disheartened. “Not recently.”
“Ah, that’s fine. I wasn't expecting much from you anyway, Jimmy.” Mr. Poultry laughed loudly, leaving Jimmy unsure if it was meant as malicious mockery or just a friendly tease. “What about your health, then?”
“Perfectly healthy.” Jimmy nodded. “Perfect working condition, one may say.”
“Is it?” Mr. Poultry halted his footsteps and eyed Jimmy up and down. “May I see your triceps?”
Jimmy wrinkled his nose. “Excuse me?”
“Can I?”
“That—what—no!”
But he wasn't quick enough to escape Mr. Poultry; a hand was already gripping his arm.
“Oh, nice.” Mr. Poultry released him soon after and gave him a firm pat on the shoulder. “Love seeing that.”
Jimmy was too stunned to speak. He glared at Mr. Poultry, who seemed unaware of any issue with his behavior and smiled while placing his hands behind his head.
“What?” Mr. Poultry continued, “I’m giving you a compliment. You have great muscles for someone who doesn't exercise much.”
He began to question whether this person was truly human. Mr. Poultry certainly did not feel like one.
Perhaps he should just run away at this point. Find any excuse, no matter how foolish, and get out of there at full speed. Yet—
“I love your energy, Jimmy. We definitely need someone like you in our business.”
He gulped.
It was still a job opportunity, nonetheless. Hopefully, Mr. Poultry would become less creepy as he got used to it.
He returned an awkward smile to his potential employer, who gazed back with those vacant eyes.
“Right,” Mr. Poultry said, standing in front of a scroll-down storage unit at the ground floor among the warehouses, hands on his waist. “Here we are.”
“Uh… Is this?” Jimmy spoke with alarm, which caused Mr. Poultry to burst into laughter.
“We don't have an office yet; this is the best we have,” Mr. Poultry said as he leaned over to reach for the handle and pulled it up with surprising ease. For someone with such an unremarkable physique, it seemed almost too easy. The inside of the building was pitch dark, illuminated only by the sunlight streaming through the entrance. Mr. Poultry held the rolling door open for him and let go of the handle as soon as Jimmy stepped inside.
The door fell heavily onto the concrete floor, echoing in the storage unit.
It was empty, with a single folding chair in sight and a light bulb hanging above, which Mr. Poultry turned on snappishly.
“Take a seat.” Mr. Poultry gestured toward the chair. “Please?”
Jimmy followed instructions in silence. He suddenly remembered something as he began searching for the bag he had been carefully holding the entire time and handed a resume to Mr. Poultry, who took it and glanced at it.
“Impressive. Hhm. All very impressive.” Mr. Poultry tapped the paper with his knuckle. “I believe you'll be a great fit. But let's have a chat first, shall we?”
“I—I—Sure!”
It was certainly a rare comment from any employer he had heard. He nodded eagerly.
“What do you think about, let's say—” Mr. Poultry began pacing back and forth in front of him, his eyes unblinking. “Are you religious?”
“…I wouldn't say I am?”
What kind of question is that?
“You know about the Good Book, don't you, Jimmy?”
This is definitely a cult, isn't it.
”The—the Bible?”
“That’s right. I'm a big fan of the Old Testament. I’m nothing but a fairy tale lover.”
What a bold thing to say.
“I—is it the one with Genesis?”
“That’s right. Genesis 22:8, God will give us the lamb for the sacrifice, my son.” Mr. Poultry began to laugh. "What a funny story! Abraham was actually going to do that—kill his son for a god. Oh, man!”
Mr. Poultry then stopped by Jimmy’s chair and leaned down toward him, locking eyes with him. “What do you think about the idea of self-sacrifice?”
“For—for a job?”
Jimmy blinked quickly, feeling uneasy with the eye contact.
“That’s right.”
“I…am willing to do a lot, but—but maybe not this—”
As he was about to get up, Mr. Poultry placed his hands on Jimmy's shoulders. It seemed like a gentle gesture, but Jimmy found himself unable to move.
This person was too strong.
“Jimmy, Jimmy,” Mr. Poultry said with a broad grin, repeating the name. “You see, I'm a nice guy. I always look up to holy figures like Abraham, yet I ponder what I should do. It’s challenging to serve a being with such a grand appetite, whose hunger feels like a bottomless void. It fascinates me. It truly does.”
Jimmy tried to pull away from Mr. Poultry’s grip, but all he received was a shake. Mr. Poultry continued speaking in the same calm, chirpy voice, “One day, I know for a fact that he’s going to swallow me whole. But I don’t want to die—not like this. It scares me. Just look how scared I am!”
Jimmy's eyes widened as he looked at the man. His lips trembled.
“Please don't,” was all he managed to say.
“‘Don’t’ what?” Mr. Poultry mocked with a tilted head. “Alright, maybe that’s enough. I don’t need to be so cruel, do I?”
At that moment, Jimmy took a move.
He pushed the bag forcefully toward Mr. Poultry’s face, which loosened the grip on his shoulders just enough for him to escape. It wasn’t graceful; he stumbled to the floor and struggled to get up onto his knees.
“What’s that for?” Mr. Poultry exclaimed. “Wait—did I scare you? Oh my, I’m so sorry, Jimmy.”
“You! You are so going to kill me, aren't you!”
Jimmy raised a trembling finger at the man standing nearby, who simply shrugged with his hands held up in the air.
“Come on,” Mr. Poultry said, resting his hands in his pockets. “I’m really hurt by that, Jimmy. I’m a nice guy.”
“You seriously want me to buy it?!”
Jimmy stood up and leaned against the rolling door, trying to search for the handle in the shadows. Mr. Poultry sighed deeply to himself.
“They said I lack social skills,” Mr. Poultry continued, sounding distressed. “Or maybe I often miss social cues—whatever that means. Is it the way I talk? Or because I touched your triceps?”
“Please don't use words like that!”
“You do have good triceps.” Mr. Poultry said with a nod. “Very tender.”
“Oh my go—” Jimmy slapped his cheek. “Just stop talking! You’re making it worse!”
“I’m sorry!” Mr. Poultry chuckled, then his voice softened. “See how lacking in social skills I am? I didn’t mean it; I promise.”
“Wait,” Jimmy said, lowering his hand. “So, you’re not going to kill me?”
Mr. Poultry blinked several times, uncertain what he was thinking. The silence extended for a while.
“You—Mr. Poultry…” Jimmy wheezed with a laugh. “Do you know how terrified I am? I thought—you were a killer for sure!”
Mr. Poultry laughed along with him. “I am!”
The laugh ceased immediately.
“…Huh?”
Jimmy finally made a noise.
“And yes, I'm going to kill you.”
Mr. Poultry went on happily.
Suddenly, a flash of silver darted towards Jimmy.
As he barely dodged the attack and collapsed to the floor, he realized it was a folding knife. Mr. Poultry quickly dropped down and raised the blade above his head, thrusting it downward before Jimmy even had a chance to scream.
But it’s not over. Or at least Jimmy hoped not. He rolled to the side as the blade dropped, and cut deep into a part of him.
“Oh no!” shouted the killer. “Your triceps! Now they are going to taste awful, aren't they!”
Then, Jimmy finally started to feel the pain. It was numb at first, but then it grew more and more unbearably sharp. His heartbeat began pounding in his eardrums. He heard a whimper; it was coming from his own throat.
“Alright, stay still.” The killer pulled on his hair to force Jimmy to look toward him. “Now it's for the throat. You better behave, Jimmy. I don't want to ruin your taste.”
His eyes were blurry with tears. He looked up toward the black eyes above him, with the blade aimed down. Those eyes lacked all soul, as usual.
“…Please…”
He murmured.
Then, something warm was hitting his eyes.
Sunlight. The morning sunlight of September.
Someone lifted the rolling door.
“Grian?”
A voice called.
“What are you doing here?”
The door was fully rolled-up, revealing a man holding it up with one arm above his head against the bright sunlight.
“Bloody hell, what is this?”
He glanced at the pair on the ground over the top of his sunglasses. He wore a black Mackintosh trench coat that reached his thighs, paired with a plain white shirt underneath that resembled a tunic. There was nothing particularly striking about his appearance, except for a strand of bright green hair peeking out from beneath his dark brown locks.
“What do I look like I'm doing?” The killer—Mr. Poultry—Grian looked up toward him, still holding the knife. “I’m making you breakfast!”
“What—in my base? You’ll get blood everywhere, you moron.” The man said with dispassion as he pushed the door all the way to the top. “Get the hell out of here. This is my property. I paid for it.”
Jimmy squinted his eyes at the man wearing sunglasses. He thought that the voice sounded familiar, but it took him a while to understand why.
“…Joel?”
The man jumped a little in response.
“What the hell, Jimmy?”
“Wha—this is my base too! Joel, we are in this together!”
Yet both of them ignored Grian as they exchanged confused glances at one another.
“Joel! Help!” Jimmy extended his hand toward the man and yelled with all his remaining strength. “He’s—he’s trying to eat me… I think!”
“Does he?” Joel lowered his sunglasses slightly to look at the killer, who was still holding the knife. “Huh. What a surprise. Grian, get off him.”
Grian did not follow the order. He looked back at Joel and the man beneath him, and the knife still hovered in the air.
“Grian.”
Joel called again.
“…Fine—”
Grian lowered the knife with a quick eye roll, while Jimmy immediately clutched his wound and edged away from him.
“Ugh, he’s crawling away!” Grian slapped his forehead and shook his head. “Weren’t you starving? Is this how you treat your diet now?”
“‘Diet’? Heh, that’s funny.” Joel leaned against the concrete wall of their unit, crossing his arms. “Then find someone else who’s not this idiot for me.”
“Joel, just…” Jimmy pressed onto his wound harder as he felt the blood was still seeping through his sleeves and was unable to lift his arm. “Call an ambulance—”
“An ambulance?” Joel spat out the word. “Not happening, Tim. You better stop bleeding or God help you. He’s right. I'm starving.”
“Oh,” Grian giggled, “he doesn’t know, does he? Why do you have the misfortune of knowing him, anyway?”
“He used to be my part-time clerk,” said Joel, eyeing the wounded man. “Oh, look, you finally saved enough money to buy that watch.”
Jimmy glanced at the second-hand watch he wore. Joel was right; he had bought it with the help of the savings he earned while working at that tiny flower shop. However, that wasn’t at the top of his priority list, especially as he felt his vision growing darker with each passing second.
“Ah, how moving!” Grian remarked. “So, we really are his employers!”
Joel shot him a dirty look and said nothing.
“Please… Just…” Jimmy tried to get some necessary attention from his former boss once more. “Someone calls an ambulance… I don't feel so good…”
Grian returned to Jimmy after hearing it. “Oh my god, shut up. You’re so annoying,” he said with dispassion. Then, he addressed the man leaning against the wall. “What should we do with him, then?”
“He’s not going to die like this.” Joel moved his eyes away. “It’s not lethal.”
“It sure feels like one…” Jimmy said weakly. “I’ve just been stabbed! Why isn't anyone helping!”
The other two quickly exchanged a peculiar look without saying a word.
He shut his eyes and shook his head. He held his wound, then made an effort to stand up.
“What, where’re you going?” Grian said, still with a bloody knife in hand. “Joel—your breakfast! It’s running away!”
“I’m trying to get help, of course!” he said, limping towards the rolling door. “Have fun with whatever you have going on...”
But he didn't get very far before he collapsed to the floor, his consciousness fading quickly.
As the world darkened around him, the last things he heard were—
“You better keep him alive, Grian, or God help you.”
“Wait, are you leaving too?”
“I can't stay here any longer. It's making me hungry.”
Notes:
This is a work co-created by @exug and @mi3-14 on tumblr. <33!
Sorry if I got England wrong I only been in London once
Chapter 2: The Hands of a Florist
Chapter Text
“No, no I promise I’m doing fine…”
He spoke weakly into the phone, wincing at a piece of gum stuck to the wall of the decaying phone booth. Stepping back, he realized he had stepped on an old police poster that had been stuck to the ground for a while beneath the door frame. The poster, faded in color, urged people to stay indoors at night due to the frequent cases of missing persons and murders.
“No! It’s a legit business. I promise—”
Something struck the glass pane of his door, startling him. It left a red smear behind.
“No, no, it’s nothing, dad.” He turned away from the smear and the two people running outside, chasing after the object that had just bounced off the glass. “Uh, it’s... You remember Joel, right? My old boss? Yes, yes. I’m working for him now. It’s just a different business. He started a new one, so to speak.”
“What’s going on with Joel?” was one of the first things he said after waking up on the floor of that storage unit. Grian offered very little help while he was unconscious. From what Jimmy could gather, this man had been staring intensely at him throughout that time, much like a dog being told to stop chewing on a toy.
Grian maintained the gaze of those empty eyes and finally spoke after a long, uncomfortable silence.
“I have no idea. I think he died.”
“Wha—what do you mean he died?!”
He attempted to sit up from the floor, but it made him dizzy. He fell back to the floor while checking his wound, which appeared to have stopped bleeding; that was a good sign.
“Yeah? He died.” Grian tilted his head slightly, resting his chin on his hand. “Someone attacked him randomly on the street one night and ate some parts of him. He didn't share much else, just that he woke up fresh on the pavement with an empty stomach.”
“So… He's a zombie now?”
“Not quite,” Grian said as he lowered his finger into the pool of blood beside Jimmy’s arm, drawing circles in it with evident enjoyment. “He’s still alive… sort of. But he can only eat humans now. So, maybe it’s a virus?”
“You don’t know?” After receiving a shrug from the man drawing circles, Jimmy’s eyes widened. “And you—?”
“I’m just a guy!” Grian said cheerfully, quickly raising his hands and splattering some blood on his cheeks. “I’m very normal, but… You see, Joel is very helpful when I do my thing.”
“Your… Thing?”
“I kill people for a living… I think.” Grian lowered his hand back into the pool of blood.“Is that what ‘for a living’ is? People pay you when you kill someone?”
“Yes, dad, it’s not a scam. Yes. I’m safe.” Jimmy held his forehead. “Yes. I have colleagues. No, just one colleague. He’s… He…”
He shifted his gaze to the glass pane, where he saw a man in a neat, soft red jumper holding something up in his hand with a big grin. It was an eyeball.
“Joel! Joel, I found it!”
“But there’s two! Where the hell is the other one?!”
“He’s an accountant. Yes, dad. A senior accountant. Just an ordinary dude.”
“Why did you…stop him?”
He asked the man who was checking the engine of a shiny black Yamaha motorbike parked outside the storage unit, which he now recognized as their newest base for hanging out and, of course, scheming.
“You seemed a bit too bony for my liking,” Joel grumbled without raising his eyes.
“What can I even do for them? Dad! I’m literally your son!” he yelled in disbelief into the phone. “I can do a lot! I have a degree in finance. Yes, I know I'm not very good at it… But there’s no need to rub it in my face!”
“Oh, here’s the other eyeball.”
“Aw, now we have two! Can I keep this one to myself, then?”
“What? What are you going to do with it, Grian?”
“I don't know. You wanna play catch with me? Oh—oh, I can throw it and you can catch it in your mouth!”
“I’m not going to! Give it back—”
“Nope! Not till you can catch me!”
“No, no, I'm not going to the police, I promise!”
Jimmy raised his hands in the air, shaking badly. The pair of murderers exchanged glances, but none of them spoke a word.
“Please, guys…” Jimmy sighed in despair. “Just let me go… I’m not going to sell you out. I know I don't have much else to offer…”
“I don't think we can, Jimmy.” Grian was the one who spoke first. “It’s your fault.”
“How’s this my fault!” He exclaimed. “What did I even do?!”
“You asked too many questions,” said Grian, shifting his eyes to the side.
“But you answered them!”
“I don't know how to talk to people, alright?!”
Joel sighed deeply, causing both of them to fall silent.
“We’re keeping him,” he then mumbled.
Grian turned to him sharply with a little jump. “Are we?!”
“What does that even mean?!” Jimmy said in disbelief. “I'm not a stray—”
“What if he has rabies?” Grian cut him off, addressing Joel. “What should we even feed him?”
“I don't know. Give him your leftovers. We’re keeping him.”
“Joel—I’m broke!”
“Don't lie to me—you’re literally loaded!”
“That doesn't mean I want to spend it!”
“Yes, I promise you that I’m eating three meals a day. I'm not starving anymore.”
He watched two people energetically chasing each other down the empty street near their base. He pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head.
“Yes, it’s the best I can do for now.”
He pulled on the tangled wires in frustration.
“I’ll get my life together. Mark my words.”
“I don't know. The more I think about it the less I like the idea of trapping somebody in a marriage.”
He directed his attention toward the small television situated in the center of their base, trying to catch a glimpse of the screen. The voice of the guest star sounded familiar to him.
“We’re just setting up a trap. He's a free citizen…”
“Jimmy, stop watching that stupid tele! Give me a hand!”
He reluctantly shifted his attention back to Joel, who was busy organizing the cramped fridge. Grian had mentioned that he got it brand new from a charity shop, whatever that meant. Now, the appliance was filled with items that Jimmy would rather not see instead of watching Karen Grassle.
“I thought you already had one in the fridge,” said the man sprawled across the entire 'brand new second-hand' loveseat in front of the television. One hand clutched the remote control while the other was busy tossing a folding knife and catching it mid-air. “Or did you eat it last night behind my back?”
The unit still had only a single light bulb, which Grian had turned off so he could enjoy the show. Joel didn’t encourage him to get additional lamps, and now it appeared that Jimmy was the only one bothered by the dim lighting in their rented storage unit once the door was shut and kept all the sunlight outside.
“I didn’t eat it,” Joel muttered, pulling something out from under two plastic bags filled with random red items. He soon tossed it to Jimmy without saying a word.
“Wha—Joel!”
It first landed on his head, and Jimmy struggled to untangle its fingers from his hair. He grabbed the severed hand and stared at it for a second, suddenly realizing what he was holding.
He screamed, tossing it into the air.
“Tim?! Just how incompetent can you be?!”
It almost hit Grian this time, but he smacked it away with his remote controller just before it made contact with his face.
“It’s—it’s a hand!” Jimmy pointed toward the hand on the ground, his voice trembling. “Oh my gosh, it’s a hand!”
“Yeah, obviously,” Grian responded with an eye roll before reclimbing onto the loveseat, settling back into a relaxed position. “Just pick it up, Jimmy. And clean it too. You’re the new guy, so you really should take on more of the chores for us, you know?”
“Heat it up,” Joel remarked, still rummaging through the fridge in search of something, without looking back at the two. “I can't have it like this; it’s bloody cold.”
“Aww. Is it going to give you a tummy ache?” Grian taunted with an unpleasant grin spread across his face. “Poor Joel.”
Joel remained silent in response. Jimmy began to pinch the hand on the ground with his own. The hand was a bit off-color compared to normal skin tones, which was somewhat expected. It felt tough to the touch as well. After picking it up, he looked around for any heat source. He spotted a battered microwave on a shabby table by the wall, which Grian typically used to make his popcorn.
“No, Jimmy, no—!”
The owner of the microwave shrieked and jumped from the loveseat when he noticed what had just happened. Jimmy turned to Grian with a wrinkled nose and a roaring discomfort in his stomach. The microwave was operating just fine.
“My microwave! My brand-new microwave!”
Grian rushed to the table and pressed his face against the glass, watching the hand spin it around and around. He then turned sharply to the man standing beside him and spoke through gritted teeth.
“You—oh, you’ll be the next one in it, Tim.”
“What! What else should I do then?” Jimmy asked, stepping back with his hands raised defensively.
“I don't know! Use your body temperature!” Grian exclaimed as he leaned closer. “Is this how you’re going to repay me for saving your damn life?”
“You didn't save me!” Jimmy said, genuinely frustrated. “You just left me bleeding on the floor! What kind of saving is that?”
“Yeah, but you didn't die, did you?” Grian tilted his head, tossing the folding knife in the air once more. “How unfortunate. Let’s try that again and see how well that goes.”
“Bloody hell, shut up, both of you.” Finally, this prompted Joel to issue an apathetic order, which both obeyed simultaneously.
Grian turned to the man kneeling on the floor, who was still attending to the refrigerator without giving either of them a glance. He caught his folding knife in mid-air with a swift motion but didn't toss it this time. The black eyes looked at Jimmy first before a smile appeared.
He then swung his wrist and threw the blade toward Joel’s temple.
It didn't land on the target, however.
“Aren’t you tired?”
Said Joel, lowering the fist that held the blade, only inches away from his temple. A stream of blood dripped from the fist, but its owner remained unbothered.
Grian chuckled, “Of what?”
“Living.”
The blade shattered into pieces and scattered on the floor as Joel released it, glimmering in the cold light of the fridge. He then finally found the item he had been searching for and pulled it out with his blood-soiled hand. “Oh, here you are.”
Grian laughed harder and returned to his seat by the tele. Jimmy, however, stood there dumbfounded as he watched Joel open the plastic bag and take out its content.
A heart, that’s all—
Jimmy's expression twisted as Joel stood up with the heart in hand. Joel raised it, studied it through his sunglasses for a second while holding his chin, and then took a bite of it.
He ignored Jimmy's uncontrollable scream and seemed lost in thought as he chewed.
“Huh.”
“Does your tummy not hurt anymore?” Grian raised an eyebrow from the sitcom playing.
“It’s merely an experiment.” Joel kept his gaze fixed on the heart, now missing a bite. “God, do I miss apples.”
“Does it taste like one?”
“Kinda. It got crunchier in the freezer.” He moved next to the loveseat and nudged Grian’s leg aside to take a seat, munching on his new apple while enjoying the sitcom. Then, he turned to Jimmy and said, “Stop screaming. I can't hear a thing.”
Jimmy clutched his chest, struggling to breathe. “What are you doing?!”
“Social cue, Jimmy. Use your brain.” Grian kept his eyes on the screen while tapping the side of his forehead mockingly. “God, I can't believe you’re worse at socializing than I am. He’s eating, of course.”
“He—he eats it raw?!”
Joel shrugged with his mouth full of heart.
As Jimmy stood there, trying to process what had just happened, all three of them turned toward the microwave after hearing a muffled explosion. The glass surface of that thing was now covered in a mist of blood. The hand continued to rotate slowly, now with a piece of exploded skin on its back.
“How did you—how did you manage to mess it up too?” Joel asked, his sunglasses nearly slipping from his nose. “How useless can you be?!”
Jimmy remained silent as he turned back and forth between the microwave and the heart-eater. He felt the warmth fading away from his body.
After a cheerful ‘ding’, the microwave stopped. The door opened slowly, revealing boiled blood dripping inside and steam rising. A foul smell immediately filled the room.
“Alright, it’s Jimmy’s turn in the microwave then,” Grian said happily after a clap. “Get in there! Get in there!”
Things didn't go as Grian had hoped, however, as Jimmy covered his mouth and pressed himself against the wall.
“Ew—” “Jesus…”
Both of them winced as he gagged and emptied his stomach in an instant.
He sat on the stone railing of a bridge near some factories, feeling the evening breeze on his face as he stared at the murky water below. It was dark and muddy, and the air was growing colder. Despite this, he chose to remain where he was instead of returning to the storage unit. He had no idea where Grian and Joel might be; perhaps they were already back at their own homes. The thought of finding out didn’t appeal to him at all.
Grian was ordered to clean around their base, which prompted some horrific words from him. When Jimmy announced he needed some fresh air and left the unit, Joel didn't make a comment while Grian threatened to boil him alive once he had the guts to return.
He reflected on the past week leading up to this terrible day. Initially, he believed that witnessing the murder would be the hardest part, and he fainted when Grian repeatedly struck the dead man's head with his Glock, all while smiling. Then, he thought the dismembering part was the hardest to witness—and he passed out again when Joel ripped a leg off with a tug and a bored expression. In the end, he believed that doing his job was the hardest part, and he fainted once more when he saw the number of bones in that pit illuminated by the white moonlight. Joel mentioned that he fell into the pit, and he was relieved that he didn't remember any of it.
And, now this.
He buried his face in his hands, shaking uncontrollably.
The image that resurfaced in his mind was when Joel bit into a heart, savoring its flavor.
He’d never have another apple again, that’s for sure.
“Tim?”
He heard a voice, causing him to release his hands. It was the man he was trying to forget at the end of the bridge, who was approaching him while holding a paper bag.
“I—I’m sorry, Joel,” he mumbled. “I needed some time alone. Why are you—why are you still here, first of all?”
“Looking for you, stupid.” Joel sat down beside Jimmy without glancing at him. “Here.”
Jimmy accepted the paper bag that Joel shoved to him. It was stained with blood in some places, but the inside appeared clean. To his surprise, the contents were—
“Cookies?” he shouted in pleasant surprise. It was a bag filled with oat crisps, full of raisins. They seemed homemade rather than from a box, with each one having a significantly different shape and size.
He picked one up and immediately took a bite; it was as sweet and delicious as he had hoped.
“How does it taste?”
Joel asked quietly, keeping his eyes focused on the distant factories.
“Good,” Jimmy replied, his mouth full. “Very good. Still the same as—”
He halted his words, however.
Joel remained silent, allowing the breeze to blow through his hair.
“Sorry... Joel.” He lowered the cookie and stared at it. “Just forget about it.”
“I still got it, huh.”
Joel, however, spoke softly with a faint smile.
“I thought I could never make them the right way again. I guess I still have muscle memory.”
“You do,” Jimmy replied with the same smile. “Still as crafty as ever.”
“How does it taste?” Joel repeated the question, still fixated on the lights emitted from the factories.
“…Good?”
“No, Tim,” he turned to Jimmy this time, “explain it to me in all the detail your stupid brain can think of.”
Jimmy stared at him with wide eyes. After a moment, he took another bite.
“It’s chunky, first of all,” he muttered as he tried to decipher the taste.”The raisins are very sweet, but there's a hint of sourness to them. The oats are tougher than the rest; you can feel their edges on your tongue.”
“Can you?”
“Yes, and,” he swallowed, “the butter is always the best part.”
“Tell me about it, then.”
“You can't taste it, but you kind of feel it. You sense it through your smell rather than your taste buds. I love it. I love it very much.”
Joel laughed heartily. “I loved it too. I thought I used too much, but it turns out I didn’t. Props to me.”
“Props to you.” Jimmy nodded.
The air was silent afterward. Joel refocused on the view of the night sky.
“Is…uh,” Jimmy asked quietly, “your hand doing alright?”
Joel lifted the hand that had caught Grian’s folding knife earlier. There wasn't a single trace of a wound on his palm.
“It’s gone already?” Jimmy leaned closer and said with surprise. “That’s ready fast! You sure it’s the right hand?”
Joel nodded and placed it back on the railing. “That’s the only advantage to it.”
All quiet, once more.
“Do you… Do you…” Jimmy mumbled, but unsure if he should continue. “Still know how to…”
“I do,” Joel responded with a shrug. “Muscle memory, I said. I bet any flower stems would snap the moment I touch them, but I’m still better than you, believe it or not.”
“Of course I do,” said Jimmy, “they said you have a green finger.”
Joel raised his hand in response and glanced at it. “You know, what did they mean by that, Jimmy?”
“Yeah? You’re good at gardening?”
“Not just that,” Joel lowered his gaze, “it meant I gave them lives. I gave everything I touched life. Ironic, isn't it?”
“…Right.”
Jimmy smiled a little, kept eating his cookie.
Chapter Text
“Yes, absolutely!” Karen Grassle said with a bright smile, extending her hand over the desk. “We would be thrilled to have you on the team, Jimmy.”
“My pleasure!” He eagerly took her hand and shook it. “Oh my gosh, I just can't believe it!”
“Oh, believe in yourself,” Karen said kindly. “We believe that every employee has their own potential in our company. It will be an honor to work with you.”
“Thank you! Thank you! You don’t know what it means to me, Ms. Grassle,” Jimmy said, almost in tears. “I’ll try my best!”
“I’m so glad to hear that!” She glanced at the file in front of her. “Now, I’ll call our HR department to arrange a meeting to discuss your employee benefits.”
“Wait, I have benefits?!” He was completely in tears by now. “Oh my gosh, oh my gosh…”
“Yes, absolutely!” she nodded. “I believe you’ll receive a free spleen every month.”
“A—?! What—”
A free spleen?
“And some leftover pancreas from Joel.”
Now Grian was speaking to him from across the office desk, drumming his fingers on the edge with a grin.
“Trust me, Timmy. We’ll treat you right—”
He screamed as he opened his eyes, staring at the concrete ceiling of the base. Panting heavily, he found himself beneath a blanket he had brought from his previous apartment, curled up on an old loveseat that was far too short for him. With no other options for sleeping, he had no choice but to make do.
He got up from the loveseat, his neck aching from the awkward position in which he had been sleeping. After a moment, he understood what had truly awakened him in the middle of the night. It wasn't, unfortunately, Karen Grassle suddenly turning into Grian.
As the rolling door was raised, it revealed two figures. Joel held the door open while Grian dragged a black suitcase inside, leaving a trail of blood behind. Joel quickly dropped the door, causing it to crash to the floor with a deafening clang that reverberated through the space.
“What the—why are you here?!” Grian shrieked as he turned on the light and found the man sitting on the loveseat. “Get off my loveseat!”
“I—” Jimmy attempted to suppress a yawn, “I have nowhere to stay! My landlord just sent me an eviction. You people don’t pay me anything!”
“Ah, so you’re homeless now,” Grian said, unimpressed as he dragged the suitcase behind him and walked past the loveseat. His cardigan, which featured horizontal lines in various shades of red and rolled-up sleeves, was even brighter with a splash of blood. “Whatever. I'm not paying for this place anyway.”
Jimmy glanced at Joel, who appeared uninterested in the situation. However, Joel had a much larger issue to confront that he seemed unaware of, which startled Jimmy quite a bit.
“Oh my God, Joel!” he yelled, covering his mouth and pointing toward the issue. “What is going on here?”
Underneath the collar, with his strings now untied, there was a wound—a literal see-through hole in Joel's black leather trench coat. It was located exactly where a lung should be. Joel followed Jimmy's finger and raised an eyebrow.
“For God’s sake—that’s why I'm running out of breath?” He seemed surprised, but not much. “Grian, why didn't you tell me?”
Grian shrugged, “I’m taking bets on when you’ll find out.”
“What—what—what happened?!” Jimmy asked, his voice shaking as Joel tried to stick a finger through the hole. “Joel! Stop that!”
“He shot me,” Joel tilted his head toward the suitcase but kept his hand inside his chest hole. “Oh, look. A piece of my rib cage.”
Jimmy winced and pulled his blanket over his face as Joel examined a small piece of bone in his palm with intrigue. “Can you—can you stop doing that?”
Joel tossed the rib chunk onto his blanket without a word and dusted off his hand as he reached for Grian and the suitcase. Jimmy lowered the blanket and stared at the chunk with wide eyes.
“Wait, you don't need that?! It’s your bone!”
“It’ll grow back.” Joel hurled the suitcase open, revealing what remained of a used-to-be human inside. He sighed out loud and turned to the man kneeling beside him. “Grian—where’s the other leg?”
“No way—he only got one?!” Grian gasped, reaching his hands into the mess and tossing organs around. “Oh man, poor guy!”
“…Grian,” Joel pressed his palm against his forehead and shook his head, “did you lose it?”
“I didn’t see it!” Grian exclaimed as he grabbed a head from the mess, tossing it between his hands. He appeared to be struggling to remember something important. The dead man’s mouth hung open, and his facial features were barely recognizable beneath the layers of dried blood and grayish brain matter. “Maybe he only had one to begin with,” he wondered aloud.
“You saw him standing on two legs! What the hell are you talking about?!”
“It was dark, alright? It’s not like I have the weird cat eye thing you’ve got going on!”
“But you’re not bloody blind! What if the cops find it? You’re trying to sabotage things, aren’t you?”
“Speaking from the guy who is busy tossing him all over the place! How is this a ‘me’ problem?”
“Oh my God,” Jimmy weakly slapped his cheeks. “Stop—”
“You always do this, Grian! Nothing is ever your fault, is it?!”
“Because I haven't done anything wrong! Who dragged the suitcase for you? Why am I doing it? Why weren't you using that freakish strength of yours?”
“I didn't ask you to carry it in the first place! You did it on your own!”
“I’m trying to be nice! Joel! You are an idiot!”
“How dare you! Take it back!”
“No, you take it back!”
“Please...” Jimmy buried his face in his hands. “Just stop...”
It didn't help much, however. Eventually, the three of them ended up squeezed together on the loveseat. Jimmy sat in the middle, with Joel on his right and Grian on his left. Each of them took an armrest for themselves, and they refused to talk to one another for a long time following the disaster with the missing leg and the dozens of name-calling exchanges.
Jimmy sat with his hands resting between his knees while Joel attempted to poke his fingers into the hole in his chest. He made a surprised face when he finally reached the leather surface of the seat back behind him. Meanwhile, Grian shoved a tape into his Walkman and put on his headphones. He must have been playing it at full volume because Jimmy could clearly hear the rock band playing.
“Can you guys leave?”
Jimmy murmured.
“I’m trying to sleep. It’s two in the morning.”
Grian pretended not to hear anything, while Joel simply yawned.
“Please, guys…” he said feebly, “go back to your homes…”
Grian pretended to cough, while Joel rested his chin on his fist.
Jimmy sighed to himself.
“Grian,” he nudged the man to his left, “just say you’re sorry.”
Grian started bopping to the music exaggeratedly.
“Joel…” he turned to the man to his right in despair, “tell him you’re not—wait, what are you—what are you doing?!”
Joel stopped his hand, which had been busy poking at something beating inside the hole in his chest. “What?”
Jimmy’s jaw dropped. “Stop playing with your heart!”
“Who are you, Grandma?” Joel shook his head and poked it again. “It’s mine . I can do whatever I want with it.”
Grian subtly glanced at the man over Jimmy's shoulder before quickly returning to his music.
“Can I…” Upon noticing the glance, Jimmy pondered a terrible idea that might work. “Can I touch it?”
Joel seemed to hold back a remark for a moment before leaning forward slightly to sneak a quick glance at Grian, “…sure…?”
Jimmy took a deep breath and shut his eyes tightly. It wasn't an easy thing to do, but he knew he had to. He raised his hand toward Joel's chest and slowly reached for the beating heart beneath it—
“Wait, I want to touch it too!”
Grian tossed off his headphones and shouted.
It worked like a miracle. Jimmy quickly pulled back his hand and took a breath in relief.
“Huh?” Joel looked at him over his sunglasses, feigning disinterest. “You do?”
“I—” Grian ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “I can't let Timmy be the first, can I?”
“What does that mean?!” Jimmy shot him a glance but then chose to remain silent.
Joel, on the other hand, seemed rather intrigued. “What’s the magic word, then?”
“Please?”
Grian blinked quickly.
“No. The other one.”
“Thank you?”
“No, no. The other other.”
“I love you?”
“What the hell?!”
“Oh my gosh,” Jimmy interjected. “Grian, just say you’re sorry!”
Grian rolled his eyes and sank back into the seat. “Fine. I guess I'm sorry.”
Joel let out a laugh, albeit with a hint of disbelief. “For what?”
“I…” Grian lowered his head and crossed his arms. “I think I know where that leg is. It might be somewhere in the bush further away. I didn't check because—”
“I threw it too far, didn’t I?” Joel sighed. “Well, I guess you’re right to some degree. We better find it tomorrow before the cops do.”
Grian hummed softly and tottered his head.
“Are we reconciling?” Jimmy asked as he looked back and forth between them. “Yes? Please?”
“Eh.” “Uh-huh.”
They both shrugged a little.
“Thank god!” exclaimed Jimmy. “Now leave—”
“So can I touch it or not?” Before he could finish, Grian pushed him aside and leaned toward Joel. “I’ve never seen one beating!”
“Why not.” Joel offered him a welcome, fairly well. “You’ll be the first since Tim’s a coward.”
“Oh man! Sucks for him!”
The man in question, now face down, grunted in dismay as he locked eyes with the head in the suitcase not far away.
“You lucky bastard,” he whispered to the head while the other two shared a both heart-touching and disgusting moment. “You have no idea what I’m going through.”
“Are you terrified, Jimmy?”
He could hear Grian’s muffled voice beneath the weight of the bulky helmet, carried by the wind.
“I—I—”
He struggled to speak over the deafening roar of the engine beneath him. The noise was overwhelming, and he felt certain he would lose his hearing if he didn't have his helmet on. It was a spare helmet from Grian, which he had reluctantly thrown to Jimmy at Joel's request.
As he thought about it, he turned to his right and saw Joel on his own motorcycle. Joel wasn’t wearing a helmet or any protective gear while speeding along at over eighty miles per hour. His sunglasses hardly counted as protection. He zipped up his black leather jacket all the way to the top, with each silver rivet on the sleeves and shoulders gleaming under the dim light of the cloudy sky. Jimmy remembered several times he had seen Joel putting on that jacket over his apron while closing the shop, but he had never truly understood what it meant until now.
“I–what?”
Grian turned to him over his shoulder, which Jimmy wished he wouldn't do as they sped through the street at a dangerously high speed.
“I don't want to be on a bike!” he shouted, his grip on Grian's torso tightening instinctively. “Grian—Joel—can you slow down?! We don't need to go so fast!”
“No way. That’s not happening.” He could tell Grian was smiling unpleasantly even with the dark dome obstructing his face. “But since you asked—”
Jimmy noticed that the handle was slightly twisted, and without thinking twice, he gripped Grian tighter. This turned out to be a smart decision, as their bike surged forward, overtaking Joel’s. He shouted a few unexpected words in terror as the buildings and cars around them blurred into an unrecognizable haze.
Joel, on the other hand, simply twisted the handle in response without saying a word. As he rode past them on his Yamaha, Jimmy noticed a pair of eyes that looked strange, usually concealed behind sunglasses. They retained the same shade of brown as the florist Jimmy once knew, but now the pupils were no longer round. Instead, they resembled slits, giving Joel’s gaze an animal-like quality rather than a human one.
They were soon hidden away once more as Joel drove in front of them. Grian cursed out loud while trying to catch up with him.
The same pointless chase continued for a long time until they found themselves in a completely different part of the city. When Grian finally stopped his bike, Jimmy realized where they had taken him. They were standing at the edge of a graveyard. Joel kicked down the kickstand and left the bike behind, as did Grian. Jimmy removed the helmet and gasped for fresh air, his eyes wandering around the tranquil graveyard beyond the short stone fence.
“Wait, why are we here?” He blurted out.
“That’s where we were last night,” Joel said, then jumped over the fence.
“You—you killed a guy in a graveyard?”
“Ask Grian where he got his stupid commission from.”
Grian, on the other hand, twirled his helmet on his fingertip and shrugged. Jimmy blinked at Grian's innocent expression a few times but chose not to ask any questions. He then redirected his attention on Joel, who had just carelessly stepped a heel of his Dr. Martens on someone's grave marker.
“It should be somewhere over there,” Joel said, raising a hand toward the peaceful greenery in the distance. “Grian,” he glanced over at the man, “don’t you forget my suitcase.”
Grian let out a loud grunt of protest as he reached for the suitcase that had been secured on Joel's backseat as instructed. It was a different one than Jimmy saw last night, and it seemed lighter. He was wondering what was in it, but the thought of some rotten flesh made him reconsider. The trio walked silently among the gravestones and markers. It wasn't long before Jimmy tried to break the awkwardness with a million questions.
“Why—why am I here? You don't need someone to dig a hole for you, right? We’re not about to rob a grave, r-right?”
“Ask Joel,” Grian said, dragging the suitcase over the untrimmed grass behind him. “He said he needs you.”
“I don't need him.” Joel continued his path toward the greenery without looking back. “I need one more person. That’s all.”
“For what?” asked Jimmy, but received no response. They continued their journey through the graveyard. Jimmy glanced around and found no living beings.
It was all too damn quiet and eerie.
Once they arrived at the greenery, featuring a small garden with wilting flowers in late September, Joel stopped.
“Alright,” Grian exclaimed as he dropped the suitcase and clapped his hands together. “Where’s the leg?”
Joel unzipped his leather jacket and reached for an inner pocket, saying, “It should be somewhere over there.”
The hole in his chest had mysteriously vanished overnight. Jimmy had learned to accept this change in silence as he spent each day with these people. However, what surprised him was when Joel pulled out a pack of cigarettes.
“…Are you sure about that?” Jimmy narrowed his eyes at the cigarette between Joel’s fingers. “In a graveyard?”
Joel lit it up and took a puff.
Before Jimmy could say anything more, a hand slapped it away.
It was Grian. The pair of black eyes stared intently at the sunglasses. His fists trembled at his sides. Those eyes rarely conveyed much emotion beyond total apathy, but now they did.
“Stop it.”
He muttered.
Joel flicked open his lighter once again. “I just got my lungs back. I’ll do whatever I please.”
“I said to stop it,” Grian spoke again, in a rare solemn tone. “Show some damn respect.”
Joel lit another cigarette in response, holding the burning tip before Grian’s eyes. “Stop me, then.”
Grian said nothing but stepped back, turned away from Joel abruptly and headed toward the bushes.
“…What’s the deal with him?”
Jimmy asked quietly as Grian aggressively yanked out branches and tossed them around.
“Not a clue,” Joel replied disinterestedly, exhaling smoke. “Not like I know much about him anyway.”
“You—you don't?”
Joel raised the cigarette as he spoke. “He came up to me randomly on the street one night and said he’s willing to help an amateur learn the way in his world. I told him I wasn't one of them, and he…”
He paused. Jimmy stared at him with wide eyes, anticipating for a follow up, unaware of the limb flying toward them.
“That’s better, I said.” Grian walked over the leg on the grass without bowing either of them an eye. “This is what I wanted, isn’t it?”
Joel ignored his words and picked up the limb. “We’re done,” he declared. “Let’s go somewhere else.”
Grian, on the other hand, walked through the small garden, trampling over the withering flowers without stopping. He headed in a different direction from the one they had come from. Jimmy watched him until he was out of sight, then turned to Joel, who simply took a drag of his cigarette.
“Should you do something?”
Joel titled his head a little. “Why should I?”
“Joel—you're supposed to be the leader!”
“I am?” He seemed surprised. “He’ll come back.”
“No he won’t!” Jimmy threw him an eye. “You just let him touch your heart! How can you—”
“Don’t say it like that!” Joel winced back. “He’ll come back… I think.”
“You,” Jimmy shook his head in disbelief, “you’re just as bad as him!”
“Bad at what?!”
“Socializing.”
Jimmy followed the man's footsteps into the graveyard soon after, without not adding another remark. "Stay where you are. Eat—eat that if you get bored."
“What the hell! Who do you think—”
He ignored Joel’s threat as he strode forward in search of Grian. That guy clearly knew where he was going, as he seemed to vanish into thin air. It took a long time to wander among the gravestones before he caught a glimpse of crimson red against the decaying gray. There, leaning against a black gravestone, was Grian. The name on the marble was unrecognizable and appeared to have been scratched off by something sharp; only the years could still be read.
1955-1971
“…Grian?”
He called.
Grian raised his head and gave him a sideways glance. “Ready for your long-awaited demise?”
“Wha—I’m trying to find you!”
“And? What do you want then? Mock me?”
“Of course not!” He stood next to Grian, staring at the gravestone. “Who is this?”
Grian pulled a smile. “I think you have that head on your shoulders for too long, Timmy.”
Jimmy shielded his neck and gasped. “N-no, I think it’s comfortable where it is, thank you very much.”
Grian laughed, resting a hand on top of the gravestone. “You’re funny, Tim.”
“So,” Jimmy spoke again, feeling he should do so as a social cue, “do you want to talk about it or not?”
“It’s…” Grian sighed out loud, lowering his hand. “It’s my dog.”
“…What?!”
“Quite impressive lifespan for a dog, don't you think?” Grian said quietly. “It was a good life.”
“You—you buried your dog here?”
“Yes," he said, pointing toward a gravestone not far away. "And that’s my cat.”
Jimmy followed the finger and discovered a gravestone with a similar alteration, where the name had been scratched off the surface.
1926-1971
A cat couldn't possibly live that long, but he chose to keep it to himself.
“And, and,” Grian tapped him on the shoulder and urged him to turn the other way, “that’s my pet hamster!”
1933-1971
“And that’s my—my—”
Grian spoke to another gravestone with a wide grin, but he couldn't finish his words.
1967-1971
Jimmy unconsciously held his breath. He turned his attention to Grian, who laughed softly to himself while putting his hands in his pockets.
“Your pet…horse?” Jimmy just nodded. “Oh…lovely.”
“Of course. Yes.” Grian let out a breath. “I had many of them. I had…many.”
Jimmy tried to think of something smart to say, but the words stuck in his throat. Instead, he chose to share the silence with Grian.
“I hate Joel,” Grian muttered, tossing a piece of lint from the pocket of his cardigan onto the gravestone. “I hope he dies.”
“You know how to?” Jimmy raised an eyebrow. “He seems pretty much unkillable.”
“I don't know. I hope that cigarette gives him lung cancer.”
“I don't think that's how his body works but I like the idea. Then what, what will you do?”
“Then I’ll tear out his lungs and toss them into an oil drum and—and drop it into the English Channel!”
Both of them shared a laugh.
“He’s not gonna breathe when his lungs are under the sea, I guess.” Jimmy said with an exhale.
“Uh-huh.” Grian replied happily. “I like the sound of that. Let’s—”
Their conversation was suddenly interrupted by a whistling sound. They both startled, not by the noise, but by the shattered gravestone that had once stood beside them.
“W—what—”
Jimmy stuttered as he turned back to the distant figure, tossing a baseball in the air nonchalantly and watching them through his sunglasses. A burning cigarette was held between his lips.
“Joel, you—”
“Joel!”
The man beside him roared and interrupted him. Grian lunged forward, but was stopped briefly by another baseball whizzed by, missing his ear by inches.
“Stop me, then.” Joel picked up another from the opened suitcase laid beside him. To Jimmy’s surprise, inside it were merely baseball bats and a boombox.
“Oh, I will.” Grian grinned widely as he took out something from the pocket of his cardigan. It was another folding knife, swirling in its owner's hand. “Do you know what you just did?”
“Of course I do,” Joel said, biting down on the cigarette as he threw another baseball toward a tombstone. It shattered immediately in an explosion, and a piece flew to Jimmy’s side.
-1971
But it wasn't at the top of Jimmy’s priority, as Grian just stabbed his blade into Joel's chest.
Joel remained composed. He pulled out the wrist holding the blood-stained blade, clenching it above Grian’s head. That hand shook, trembling, and so did its owner.
“You know what year it is?” Joel pushed him away.
Grian cursed as he held his wrist; Joel had left a noticeable bruise on it.
“Tell me, Grian.” Joel spoke once more. “Tell me, loud and clear, what year it is?”
“It’s 1981! What do you think it is, you moron!”
Joel ignored the screaming that echoed around, cracking terribly, and shoved a baseball onto Grian’s chest.
“So you know,” said Joel, stepping back and raising a baseball bat from the suitcase, “now throw it at me.”
“…Huh?”
Grian stood still.
“You seem like a pitcher.”
Joel placed the bat over his shoulder.
“Oh, do I!” Grian laughed while tightly gripping the baseball in his hand, “You’ll regret the day you were born—”
“I already did," Joel said with a shrug, flicking the cigarette butt onto a grave marker. "No need for you to remind me. Jimmy?" He called to the other man, who was still standing in shock. "Go pick them up. I don't have an endless supply of baseballs to throw around. I'm bloody poor.”
Jimmy immediately nodded. He was certain he didn't want to be involved in whatever was about to happen between them. As Grian watched Joel's head, looking for the most lethal spot for the baseball to hit, Joel grabbed the handle of the boombox and placed it nearby.
“And play the music for us,” he said to Jimmy as he lowered the tip to the side, waiting for Grian to take a strike. “The mixtape is somewhere in here.”
“Wait, are you two seriously going to—”
“Only this time,” Joel interrupted with slight displeasure, “I don't play team sports.”
Jimmy hurried over to the boombox, questioning the truth of the statement as he shielded his head while dashing past the pair who were glaring at each other. He caught a glimpse of a pair of black eyes meeting the reflection in those sunglasses, flickering with thrill. He grabbed the mixtape from the mess and realized it was the same one Grian had thrown into his Walkman after a quick glance.
He inserted it into the boombox as Grian threw the baseball at Joel with all his strength.
“God save the Queen!”
An ear-piercing 'ding' echoed through the graveyard under a cloudy afternoon sky.
“The fascist regime!”
The baseball landed on another unremarkable gravestone and shattered it. Jimmy prayed to God it wouldn't upset some grieving family member, but it didn't seem it would matter to them anyway.
“They made you a moron, a potential H-bomb!”
He ran towards the baseball, attempting to dodge Grian's arm swinging toward the sky.
“God save the Queen, she ain't no human being!”
“Jimmy! Quick! Give me another one!” Grian shouted excitedly, keeping his eyes on the batter. Joel lowered the bat once more, ready in position without saying another word. The metal bat was now slightly bent.
“There’s no future—in England’s dreaming!”
As soon as Jimmy handed him a baseball, he raised a knee and aimed it at Joel’s face.
“Oh lord God, have mercy, all crimes are paid!”
Another swing of the baseball bat connected perfectly with its target. It slipped from Joel's grip due to the force and crashed to the ground, but it was no longer functional anyway.
“When there’s no future, how can there be sin?”
Joel picked up another bat from the suitcase and got into position again. Jimmy searched through the remnants of a gravestone and finally discovered a slightly misshapen baseball.
“We’re the flowers in the dustbin, we’re the poison in your human machine—”
He threw it to Grian—
“God save the Queen!”
— who caught it with a beaming smile.
“We meant it, man—
There’s no future in England’s dreaming!”
He threw it to Joel with his bruised wrist.
“No future, no future, no future for you!
No future, no future, no future for me!”
Notes:
Amazing artwork by @mi3-14 for this chapter:
https://www.tumblr.com/mi3-14/777815770662109184/more-fanarts-for-the-badboys-cannibal-fanfic
Chapter Text
He observed a man sitting cross-legged, pouring cream into his Earl Grey tea. The man raised his spoon and stirred it gently in the teacup. He wore a pair of light orange sunglasses and a pink Hawaiian shirt under a blue blazer, which displayed several golden canaries perched on tree branches. The birds seemed to stare at Jimmy, and so did the pair of eyes hidden behind the sunglasses.
“So,” the man said with a smile, lifting the plate with his teacup, “what do you want to tell me, Jimmy? You wouldn’t want to waste my time, would you?”
“I…I…”
He was at a loss for words, realizing that he was completely unprepared for the situation. He glanced at the rifle leaning against the window beside them. The setting sun lingered outside the small pastry shop. He had never seen a rifle quite as large as this one; it was a monster, and there was no other way to describe it.
“Oh,” the man said, glancing at the rifle after taking a sip of his tea, “it's quite scary, isn't it? This is a Barrett M82 prototype, freshly made in America. It’s an anti-material rifle designed to stop tanks and other military equipment, so to speak.”
“Why do you…” he tried to conceal his discomfort by focusing his eyes on the man instead. “How can you just carry it around?”
“We have the permission. We must act quickly if we spot those…creatures.” The man took another sip of his tea. “We have her majesty's approval.”
“…Do you?” Jimmy murmured to himself, then increased his volume. “Those creatures? Please, tell me more about them.”
“Still terrified from your encounter, are you, Jimmy?” The man laughed softly and rested his elbow on the rifle. “They are nearly immortal and extraordinarily strong. They also have remarkable regeneration abilities. They don’t experience pain in the same way humans do, and we suspect that’s why they are so incredibly powerful.” Noticing the confusion on Jimmy’s face, the man tossed something toward him. “Alright, let me show you something first.”
It was a bullet, a golden bullet nearly the length of his entire hand. It felt heavy and was ice-cold to the touch.
“It’s a bullet for my rifle.” The man leaned back in his seat. “A .50 BMG. As you can imagine, the only way to end such creatures is to blow their heads off.” He chuckled. “Give it a squeeze.”
Jimmy followed, still feeling a bit confused. The metal pressed painfully into his palm.
“It hurts, doesn’t it?” the man said afterward. “It’s because your brain is telling you that you shouldn’t be doing this, which makes you stop. Actually, your bones and muscles have the ability to crush a .50 bullet if there are no limits, but your hand will break in the process—Are you following me, Jimmy?
“Yes, I guess,” he placed the bullet back on the table. “Are you saying they can use the full potential of their bodies if they experience little pain while doing so?”
“That is correct,” the man nodded. “Based on your reaction, you’ve witnessed such a phenomenon, haven’t you?”
Jimmy was silent for a while as he observed the man, biting his tongue in contemplation.
“Any hint of clue would be a great help to us—”
“Who are you, anyway?”
Jimmy cut him off suddenly.
“Oh, me?”
The man brushed his bright blue hair, then removed his sunglasses and tucked them into his chest pocket.
“You can call me Scott,” he said with a smile, “I’m a hunter at Scotland Yard.”
The rolling door to their base was open during the daytime, which was rare. He was resting on the loveseat, gazing at the light bulb hanging above, his mind blank from deep exhaustion. The night before, he had spent several hours digging a pit for bones in the nearby woods. Grian had been complaining that the previous pit was nearly filled to the top, and they needed to start anew. Joel hadn’t been much help, claiming he would only break a shovel in half. Judging by the awkward glances shared between him and Grian, that was probably true.
His arms were sore, and the spot where Grian had stabbed him a few weeks earlier was hurting a lot. Speaking of Grian, he was outside their base, grilling some sausages. He knelt beside a small waffle maker he had picked up from a charity shop, which he was trying to convince everyone was a grill. Joel stood behind him, watching as Grian flipped the sausages over his shoulder.
“No! That one is definitely burnt!”
Joel tried to salvage the sausage he was talking about but received a whack on the hand from Grian’s spaghetti tongs.
“Stop backseating me!” Grian glared at him. “What do you know about cooking anyway? It’s not like you can eat them.”
“But I can tell if a sausage is burnt or not! I'm not a moron.”
“I’ll just give it to Tim.” Grian muttered, tossing the burnt sausage onto a paper plate. “Timmy! Come get your food!”
Jimmy turned his head toward the pair and sighed, “I’m not a dog...”
“You feed your dog burnt sausage?” Grian asked, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “That’s animal cruelty in my book.”
“What?! Never mind…” Jimmy turned his gaze back to the TV program playing. “I’m not hungry.”
Jimmy then heard the paper plate placed on the floor.
“What’s his deal?”
He heard a whisper from Joel.
“I don't know. He’s been like this since this morning.” Grian wisphered back. “I think he's broken. Maybe we need to find another one.”
“Oh…my Gosh…” Jimmy spoke out loud. “I can hear you guys clear as day!”
The pair fell silent for a moment before the whispers resumed.
“You’re right. I think he's broken.”
“What should we do, then? Man, I just grilled this many sausages…”
“I don't know, give him a whack?”
“Guys!” He wailed. “I'm trying to watch The Love Boat!”
It worked. This time they stayed silent for a long while.
He heard someone approaching from behind, and a shadow fell over him. The figure stood there, watching him without saying a word. To be honest, he felt a little nervous. No one could remain calm when faced with two murderers.
“…Just…” he said weakly, keeping his eyes on the TV, “if you’re going to kill me, do it fast.”
“What’s with that attitude?” shouted Grian, seemingly still by the waffle maker. “I feed you every single day. Do you know how hard it is for me to keep you alive?”
“Well, thank you…” He muttered. “I just—I don't even have a place to stay. And what I'm doing all day is physical labor…”
“Oh, so you don't want to get along with us anymore.” Grian said, sounding a little frustrated. “Fine. I guess it's finally time to kill you.”
“What’s great about living anyway?” he grumbled. “What kind of life am I living? I feel like—I feel like a pet you two keep in this storage unit. Where’s my own life? Where’s my future? I can’t even—”
He didn't get to finish his sentence, however, as a hand yanked his collar and lifted him up.
“…What did you say?”
Joel spoke calmly; at least, it appeared so. He could feel the pair of inhuman eyes piercing through those sunglasses.
“I-I-”
He stuttered and instinctively grabbed onto that hand, knowing he could not change anything.
“Tell me again.” Joel pulled him closer. “What did you say?”
Cold sweat formed on his forehead as a shiver ran down his spine from that simple question. He couldn't bring himself to say another word.
“Joel,” Grian called as he stood up, “put him down.”
“Stay out of it,” he said, and Grian followed. “Tell me, Jimmy, what do you want?”
“I—it was a joke! Joel, it’s just a dumb joke!”
Jimmy shouted and immediately felt out of breath.
“A joke, huh?”
Joel pushed him back into the seat. He put his hand back in his pocket as he turned away from Jimmy.
“Better be careful of what you wish for, Jimmy.”
“A-a hunter?” Jimmy repeated the word. “Like…a vampire hunter? Is that what you’re called?”
“Humane Unit of Trial and Error. It’s a newly established team at Scotland Yard in response to the appearance of these creatures,” Scott shrugged slightly. “Hunter for short. But yes, it’s similar to a vampire hunter.”
“Humane? What’s so humane about it?”
Scott turned toward the rifle by the window, now covered by a warm hue from the sunset. “Humanely euthanization, of course. Just one shot to the head and we’ll give those creatures a quick end to their eternal torture. If this isn't humane, then I don't know what is!”
He watched Scott burst into laughter, flabbergasted. “But-but you are a killer—”
“But—am I really?” Scott said frisky, “You’ve seen one of them, haven't you? Is it really a human?”
“He…is?” Jimmy blinked. “He is a human. Just a very strange one—”
“Alright, Jimmy,” Scott interrupted, resting his arms on the table. “We can get back to discussing vampires. You’re familiar with the myth, right?” After receiving a nod, he continued. “People used to create all sorts of terrifying stories about them. Initially, they were portrayed as nothing more than grotesque monsters that should be killed at all costs. However, after a few well-written novels depicted them as mysterious, melancholic noblemen and women, people began to feel empathy for them. What changed, Jimmy? What changed?”
“Uh…we made them…be rich?”
Jimmy scratched his head.
“Nope,” Scott laughed. “It's because we made them melancholic. Good lord, look at those poor creatures! They’re suffering just by merely existing! What a sad, sorrowful life! People suddenly forget they’re blood-sucking monsters that must take a life to continue their own, in the most selfish way possible. It's funny how people's worldview changes just by knowing they share a similar emotion to humans.”
“But they are?” Jimmy stopped his hand. “And they’re once human, aren't they?”
“They were,” Scott sighed a little, “and their lives had already ended the moment they were turned. What you see right now is a walking carcass that resembles its living counterpart, haunted by its past dreams and desires that can never ever be fulfilled, driven by its constant hunger for the flesh of others. It’s not a human. It’s not living. It is—”
“He is!”
Jimmy raised his volume without realizing.
“He’s still alive!”
“Timmy?”
He turned his gaze from the murky water beneath the bridge to the sound of a voice. It was Grian, carrying a bag of popcorn.
“Why do you people keep bringing me food when I'm on this bridge?” He shook his head.
“What?! It's not for you!” Grian said, stopping by his side and leaning against the stone railing. It was already dark, yet Jimmy barely realized it. “I’m hungry,” he added.
He watched as Grian shoved popcorn into his mouth rapidly. Grian wasn't lying; the popcorn was disappearing at an impressive speed. “Then why are you here?”
“Just making sure you haven't run away,” Grian mumbled with a mouthful of popcorn. “If you call the police, we'll have to change our hideout once more.”
“Oh well, that sounds rough.” Jimmy commented halfheartedly. “Is he—is he still mad at me?”
“Yeah, of course.” Grian rested his elbows on the railing and gazed at the factories in the distance. “I haven't seen him genuinely upset in a while. There was one time I tried to trick him into eating some raw beef, and it almost made him sick.”
“You-you did?” Jimmy said with widened eyes. “What’s he like?”
“Gagging, of course,” Grian said as he weighed the remaining popcorn in his bag. “He was upset for quite a while afterward. He wouldn't even talk to me! And I couldn't just let him roam around town freely, murdering people. He’s terrible at that—not at killing, of course—but he never cared much about the mess he left behind.”
“That’s why…” He thought for a moment, “you offered your help? As a professional to someone amateur?”
“Not really,” Grian kept his eyes at the factories. “It’s because I need a way to get rid of the bodies and he's a handy rubbish disposal. It’s always the most difficult part, could you believe it?”
“I…”
He considered the fridge and its contents. He thought about the bone pit and felt a queasy sensation in his stomach.
“I do. Then what, what did you do to calm him down?”
Grian gave him a funny look in response.
“Oh…”
Jimmy bowed his head, disheartened.
“You tried to make him breakfast.”
He gently held the old wound, caressing it softly. It didn't hurt as much as it had that morning.
“Well, I never expected him to keep you as a pet, that’s for sure,” Grian said, turning his gaze back to the distance. “But at least there's someone who understands how scared I am.”
“You are?”
Grian tottered his head.
“You don't want to see him get hungry, Timmy. God, did he scare me.”
“I…I can't imagine someone like you being scared if I’m being honest.”
“Jimmy, he’s literally a monster!” Grian exclaimed in disbelief. “Have you forgotten what happened this morning?”
“But… He…”
Jimmy whispered.
“He was a florist.”
He laughed weakly to himself.
“Oh, yeah.” Grian shrugged. “He was your boss, wasn't he?”
“Yes. He…” Jimmy tightened his grip on the stone railing. “He was quite a silly one at that.”
“Do tell, then. Give me some dirt so I can mock him after.”
“You—” Jimmy laughed before continuing, “He… He once drew an illustration of our signature bouquet by hand and hung it on the wall, insisting that we stare at it and give him compliments. He was so proud of it. He had his hands on his hips, wearing an apron that was dirtier than usual from working with soil. The only time he got frustrated was when he was transferring plants to different pots. It was a long and tedious process, but he didn’t mind it. He always used his hands instead of tools, saying that this way he wouldn’t harm the roots. He was…”
Jimmy smiled.
“He was just a silly florist.”
Grian let out a chuckle in response.
“I have a completely different story to share with you, then.” Grian said, giving him a sidelong glance. “You know what he’s like when he gets hungry? He kept glancing at me. I knew he wasn’t supposed to do it, but he couldn’t help himself. Every time he looked my way, I felt a terrifying sense of being watched by something beyond my understanding. I told him we’d find someone tonight, no matter what, and to just forget about the stupid cops chasing us. He didn’t say anything; he just kept staring at me.”
He tossed another piece of popcorn into his mouth, then he went on.
“I knew for a fact that he was considering every potential possibility of tearing me to shreds, and I knew he could easily do so. But you know what the worst part is, Jimmy?”
He lowered the popcorn in hand.
“…The truth is, he didn’t do any of that. I can’t even begin to understand what was going on in his head. I can’t comprehend the struggles he faced just by remaining still, fighting a battle he could never win. What scared me the most was that I wasn’t dealing with a monster, but treating him like one. You’re right, Jimmy; you are…right.”
“Right about…what?”
“There’s…” Grian gave him a smile. “There’s still a florist living inside him.”
“Calm down, Jimmy—”
“I-I’m sorry.” Jimmy took a deep breath. “I just don’t think your way of thinking is correct. They’re still humans; they need help, and-and a cure, not to be slaughtered…”
“Help?” Scott repeated mockingly. “They literally eat people, Jimmy. You mentioned nearly dying at the hands of one of those creatures, didn't you? That’s why you came to us. So why are you defending it now?”
“He’s not an ‘it’!” Jimmy protested. “I wasn't—I wasn't trying to ask you guys to kill him. I thought maybe you people could help… You said so, Scott!”
“I am!” Scott nodded. “I did say so. That is helping…him. He is suffering, Jimmy. The mere existence of him is a suffering—”
“But he wants to live!”
Jimmy stood up, slapping his hands on the table, causing it to tremble. The .50 BMG and the teacup shook from the impact.
“He did all of this…” Jimmy wheezed. “Just to…stay alive… He…”
“…Really, Jimmy?” Scott looked at him with intrigue. “You call this living?”
When he returned to the base late at night, he discovered that the door was still rolled up. Grian had left for home some time ago, and it was easy to guess why the door had been left open.
“Joel?” He called once he stepped into the darkness.
No response. He decided to turn on the light.
Joel was indeed waiting for him, but not in the loveseat as Jimmy had expected. Instead, he sat on the floor next to the fridge, with one knee pulled against his chest. A few cigarette butts were scattered around him, and he wasn't wearing his sunglasses; they were on the floor nearby as well.
“Joel,” Jimmy said again, “I-I’m sorry…”
“For what?”
Joel didn't look at him. He held his knee tighter.
“You’re still mad at me?” Jimmy said carefully.
Joel peeked at him above his knee and soon lowered his gaze. The eyes still resemble two slit lines, more animal than human.
“I don't know. Stop asking so many bloody questions.”
“I-I only asked one?!” Jimmy protested.
“Grian told you something stupid,” Joel muttered, “didn't he? I tried to tell him off but he wasn't listening. What an idiot.”
“He… Yes, more or less. You know him. He's bad at socializing.”
“Heh,” Joel flicked away some ashes that had accumulated on his cigarette. “What did he tell you then? How nice and great am I?”
“Well… Yes!” Jimmy nodded eagerly. “He said I shouldn't piss you off and-and I should be kinder—”
“You’re a terrible liar, Tim,” Joel interrupted. “I’m not interested in what he told you anyway.”
“Al—right?” He said quietly. “Will you just accept my apology, then?”
“Not happening.” Joel tossed the cigarette to the floor, then he said something quietly. “…Did I scare you?”
“A little,” Jimmy said with nervousness, “I thought you were going to tear me apart.”
Silence lingered between them after he finished speaking. Joel lowered his head to his knee.
“I’m really, really sorry, Joel,” he mumbled, “I want to live. Trust me, I do.”
“But I took your life away, didn’t I?” Joel chuckled to himself. “By saving your life, I took it away. Funny, isn’t it?”
“I wouldn't…say so?” Jimmy rubbed his neck. “It’s much better than Grian killing me, I’d say. I still have no source of income, which is…not ideal. Other than that, I see no problem with it.”
Joel laughed mufflely to his knee. “You moron.”
“It seems to be the only thing I’m good at.” Jimmy nodded.
All quiet, once more.
“You remember…” Joel broke the silence and lifted his head, shifting his eyes to the side, “our best-selling bouquet?”
“Yes? Of course!” Jimmy exclaimed, surprised. “It sold well during last year’s Valentine’s Day.”
“You still do? Really?” Joel muttered. “What was it made of, then?”
Jimmy cupped his chin in thought. “Um, I think it was something white… Were they daisies?”
Joel nodded. “And?”
“Gypsophila! That’s it. We dyed them a darker blue.”
“Quite impressive. And? What’s the central piece?”
“That’s—”
Jimmy lowered his hand.
“…Pink lilies.”
Joel finished for him.
“Quite lovely…isn't it?”
He spoke softly, retaining a faint smile as he looked at the dying cigarette on the concrete floor.
“What is life, anyway?” Jimmy continued, surprised by how firm his voice sounded in front of the hunter. “If a heart is still beating, then it’s alive. You can say whatever you want, but he’s alive. He can feel emotions. He can—”
“So, you want to pick a side?” Scott chuckled. “You knew how many lives he had taken, yet you are still considering choosing the side of a monster.”
“I-I’m not! I'm still trying to find a way to help him—”
“And I’m telling you that there's none. There's no cure for this-this friend of yours. Wait, is he truly your friend? Even after he almost killed you, I'm guessing?”
“I…”
Jimmy sunk back to his seat.
“I don't…know.”
“Oh, so you don’t have an answer either?” Scott leaned his elbow back on the rifle. “You know what, Jimmy? I’m willing to tell you a top secret.”
Jimmy stared vacantly at Scott, who interpreted this glance as a signal to go on.
“We captured one of them in the past,” said Scott. “We tried to extract some information from it through experiments. It didn't take long before it died of starvation, but that’s beside the point. We asked it what it felt like to eat flesh, and it said they tasted like jellies—fruit-flavored jellies! It even stated the flesh had a floral or citrus-like fragrance. How appealing!”
When Jimmy did not laugh, Scott shrugged it off and continued speaking.
“It also mentioned that the hungrier it became,” Scott leaned in closer, “the more it could smell the delicious scents coming from the nearby humans. It drove it wild. You see, Jimmy, to them, you're just a dessert. Every time they look at you, all they think about is how good you will taste. Do you understand what you're doing, Jimmy?”
“I…know…I…”
He ran his fingers through his hair, subconsciously tugging at it.
What am I doing?
He watched the buildings pass by the window beside him. This morning, he had taken a bus as the first step before either of them arrived at their base. He didn't carry much with him—he didn’t have much at all. Everything he had been using belonged to Grian anyway. He glanced at the document bag beside him, unsure if it or he smelled strange to the others around him. He realized he could no longer detect the smell of blood like he used to, as he had gotten too used to it.
His first stop was a marketplace, not because he was looking for someone, but because he was hungry. There were several snack stands along the street, and he bought a hotdog for himself, topped with a little too much mustard. After finishing his meal and still feeling a bit hungry, he reached into his pocket but only found a couple of coins.
His stomach was growling again after wandering around town for a while. He had come across several opportunities to reach out to the authorities, including a public phone booth and the patrolling officers who had become a common sight lately. He did not reach for any of them, however. He continued his aimless journey with the document bag in hand.
What are Joel and Grian doing right now? He wondered. They must have been furious at his fleeing and were probably searching for him—but did they really care about him in any way? They were likely planning to relocate their base again, which seemed to be the ultimate truth.
How pathetic, he thought to himself. He had no money, no place to stay, and was unable to land a job. What was Grian going to make for him today if he hadn’t left? Burnt sausage again?
He raised his wrist to check his watch. It might be the only thing of value to him at that moment. Perhaps he should consider pawning it for some cash. At least he could use that money to buy himself lunch. He gazed at the weathered leather strap of a gold watch, its frame still gleaming. After a moment, he chose to lower it in frustration.
He couldn't let it go, and his inability to do so led him only to self-loathing. It shouldn't be like that.
He wandered down the sidewalk alone, searching for anything to distract himself from a burning irritation that he couldn't quite understand. The buildings along the street passed by one after another, and he didn't pause to look at any of them. He walked through the crowd of passersby, all of whom gave him curious glances, until—
“Oi, watch your step!”
He unintentionally collided with a couple of police officers after turning mindlessly on a street corner.
“Oh, we’re so sorry—”
A hand grabbed his arm just before he fell. It belonged to a man who resembled a tourist rather than an officer. He wore orange-tinted sunglasses, a bright pink Hawaiian shirt, and had dyed hair in a vibrant shade of blue.
“Are you alright?”
The man asked him gently. He had a black velvet case on his back that Jimmy initially thought was for a cello or another large classical instrument.
Seeing no response but noticing Jimmy's curious glances toward the case, the man spoke again. “Do you... Uh, do you...need...help?”
“Jimmy,” Scott said gently, “I know it's a lot to absorb. But you have to trust us; we have your best interests at heart.”
“I...” He ran his fingers through his hair, trying to steady himself. He took a few deep breaths, but they came hard. “I just want to help him. I don’t want him to die, but I also don’t want him to live like this. Yet you all are going to kill him...”
“If you truly believe he matters to you, even slightly,” Scott said sympathetically, appearing genuine, “then you shouldn't want to watch him suffer any longer, right?”
“He’s not suffering ,” Jimmy said, lowering his hand. “It’s all my fault… This is… All my…”
“…Jimmy.”
Scott cut him off suddenly.
“We need to leave.”
He then quickly started placing the rifle back into its velvet case.
“Huh?” Jimmy looked up at him with confusion. “Where—why are we leaving? What’s going on?”
“I can smell it,” Scott muttered as he lifted the case. “It’s close by.”
“Wha—what smell? I don't smell anything?”
“It’s a skill you can learn,” Scott said, turning toward the window of the pastry store, which featured a sun almost sunk into the horizon, “that helps you discern the difference between life and death.”
There was no one in sight at sunset. No matter how hard Jimmy tried, he couldn't see anyone.
But he knew Scott was right.
When Scott offered to guide him back to Scotland Yard, a place that he promised would be much safer for them, Jimmy wasn't expecting to use public transport. Scott claimed it was due to the terrible traffic during the evening rush hour, but Jimmy suspected there was another reason. Once he managed to find a seat on the tube by sheer luck, he noticed that the man next to him gradually relaxed as more and more people boarded. The tube was cramped, and he could see some disgruntled glances from other passengers directed at the velvet case beside Scott, making the already suffocating space feel even more unbearable.
“It’s going to be a long trip,” Scott said, leaning against a pole and glancing down at the pages of a novel he was holding. The cover suggested it was a thriller. “But we’ll be safe.”
“Do you… Still smell it?”
“I still do,” Scott said, flipping over a page. “There’s nothing I can do, I’m afraid. It’s after us.”
“What do you mean by that? Didn't you say we’ll be safe?”
“I lied,” Scott said, not looking up. “I’ll be safe, Jimmy. But it’s you who will choose your own fate and ultimately decide if you’re in safe hands or not.”
“What…are you…”
Before he could finish his sentence, the train came to a stop and several passengers began to get off. That’s when he noticed a man in a black trench coat standing not far from his seat, just behind the hunter who was reading the novel.
He couldn't determine whether the man was looking at him, but he felt the truth.
The train rushed through the underground. Everything outside was shrouded in darkness. Everyone inside was dead silent, all minding their own business after an exhausting workday. The creature remained quiet. He too was silent.
Did I smell it?
He gazed into the familiar dark sunglasses, concealing those inhuman pupils, deep in thought.
The foul scent of rot and decay.
The man was still, simply watching him in this silence. As the train took a sharp turn in the dark tunnel, an ear-piercing screech echoed through the air. None of the passengers reacted; it was just a part of their daily routine.
The floral and citrus-like fragrance.
Afterward, all he could hear was the thumping of the old railroad and the wheels.
The smell of death itself.
Thumps. One after another. Rhythmic. Lifeless. Like a heart still beating inside a long-dead body.
Are you going to kill me?
Jimmy felt his mouth twitching uncontrollably. Scott turned another page. The creature watching him remained motionless.
You know what I did.
Another stop had arrived. Passengers came and went, but the creature stayed.
You’re waiting, aren't you?
Jimmy shook his head slightly.
The moment we are alone, you are going to tear through my chest and—and—
He found his hands trembling.
But—but you can't. I'm safe. Can't you see I'm safe?
He glanced over at the hunter who was reading a novel. The hunter showed no reaction.
I’ll be safe .
Jimmy looked back toward the creature. The creature watched him back.
I’ll find a job. I’ll start a life. And you’ll—you—
His eyes dropped to his wrist. Initially, he did not understand the reason behind his action. He lifted his sleeve and found the watch, searching for an answer.
It gleamed under the artificial lights. He chuckled softly to himself.
…I’m sorry, Joel.
The train came to a halt once more, and it's doors opened. As he was still gazing at his watch, he noticed a dark flash in front of his eyes. He lifted his head, only to find the place not far away was empty and the creature was nowhere to be seen. He quickly turned to the gate as the swarm of passengers poured outside.
That's where Jimmy found the creature, stepping on the platform without looking back.
An alarm sounded as the door was about to close. Jimmy stood up from his seat and reached for it, trying to squeeze through the other passengers. He extended a hand toward the closing door and stumbled out of the gate.
“Oh,” he heard a voice raise behind him. “So, you’ve made your choice.”
He turned back, looking at the door that was closed in front of him. The hunter continued reading his novel and didn’t wave goodbye to Jimmy. The tube moved forward shortly after and vanished into the dark tunnel.
He returned his gaze on the creature’s back in front him. The creature stood still among the busy swarm, as did Jimmy.
“I’m sorry,” Jimmy said.
“…Are you?”
Joel muttered.
“I didn't know what I was thinking, I—”
“I know.”
Joel cut him off.
“I know what you did.”
“And you should know that I didn't.”
Jimmy tried to smile.
“You did,” said Joel, “you’ve made your choice.”
“I…”
Jimmy glanced down at his watch.
“I guess. There's no turning back for me, isn't it?”
Joel remained silent, as they shared a moment of quiet amid the bustling commune.
“Will you…”
Jimmy spoke quietly.
“See her again?”
No response.
The creature took a step forward.
Notes:
https://www.tumblr.com/mi3-14/777830449246601216/therere-spoilers-to-this-chapter-of-urban
Artwork for this chapter I'm wiping in joy
Chapter Text
“Ouch!”
He quickly released the frying pan he was holding, and it crashed to the ground, flipping over and spilling scrambled eggs everywhere.
Grian raised the remote control and lowered the volume of the television. “...Timmy—”
“Sorry—” He waved his hand in the air, trying to alleviate the sharp pain. “I—I think I just burnt my hand.”
“I don’t care.” Grian leaned back on the loveseat, stretching his leg toward Joel, who didn’t appreciate this invasion of personal space. “Pick it up and clean it. I’m not on cleaning duty today.”
“You’ve been off cleaning duty for an entire week!” he protested while leaning toward the pan on the floor, trying to grab the handle again but failing. “Ou—”
“Whose fault is it, huh?” Grian turned the volume back up, still lounging on the loveseat, causing Joel to scoot further away. “Who tried to sell us out and is now in charge of the housekeeping? Huh? Who's the traitor?”
Jimmy was at a loss for words. He sighed to himself and began searching for a towel in the makeshift kitchen they had set up. It certainly wasn't as neat and organized as when Grian was in charge of cleaning and cooking, but Grian had insisted he was off duty and chose to live his life as he pleased.
As he grabbed a dirty towel hanging by the sink and turned back toward the frying pan, he discovered it had already been taken.
Joel held the pan, which was still burning hot, but he didn't seem to mind. He looked around at the mess on their formal kitchen counter and let out a loud, noticeable sigh.
“I can't live like this anymore,” Joel declared, waving the frying pan in the air. “This place stinks!”
“Yeah, blame Timmy for it,” Grian rolled his eyes. He was now fully stretched out on the loveseat, finally with it all to himself. “It’s not my problem.”
The other two exchanged a glance with each other before turning their attention to the man. Grian didn't acknowledge them; instead, he continued to focus on the romantic comedy playing on the screen. His cardigan and the shirt underneath, which were usually impeccably neat and clean, looked disheveled and wrinkled. Each day, their owner arrived at the base looking messier than before, and now Grian had even stopped bothering to button it up.
“And I said I'm sorry multiple times…” Jimmy said, throwing the towel back onto the pile of dishes that had accumulated inside. “I promise, I’m never going to sell you out…ever again. I think.”
“You think?!” Joel shouted in disbelief. “Jimmy, you almost made me kill you!”
“How is trying to murder me my fault?” he argued back, then bowed his head afterward. “Well, I guess a little…”
They both turned their eyes toward Grian again after hearing a burst of laughter from him, enjoying the TV show. Grian, however, didn’t seem to pay attention to either of them.
At a loss for words, Jimmy noticed a quick glimpse beneath the sunglasses. Joel then tilted his head toward the rolling door, and Jimmy shrugged.
Grian didn’t acknowledge Joel and Jimmy as they exited the storage unit, nor did he react when Joel let the rolling door slam shut. Once they stepped outside beneath the dull sky of early October, Joel pulled out a pack of cigarettes and offered it to Jimmy. After a moment of contemplation, Jimmy decided to accept the offer. He definitely needed one right now.
“What’s going on?!” he wailed after taking a puff and pacing back and forth in front of the door. “Is he broken?”
“Funny how you both are taking turns,” Joel leaned against the brick wall and held up a cigarette. “One at a time.”
“Is my cooking the problem?” He ran a hand through his hair. “Is my black pudding really that bad?”
Upon noticing a wrinkled nose from a strict cannibal who just had raw liver for breakfast, Jimmy lowered his hand in disappointment. “I-I know it doesn’t look very appetizing—”
“Jimmy,” Joel interrupted, his expression serious, “I won’t allow you in that kitchen ever again. I’ll snap your fingers one at a time if that's what it takes.”
“But Grian isn’t great at cooking either!” he exclaimed. “All he does is reheat frozen meals and make popcorn.”
“Still better than-than what in the Lord’s name was happening last evening. Jimmy, I can't even eat anymore, and you still make me feel sick to my stomach. I don't even know how you managed it.”
Jimmy halted in his footsteps. “Oh, whoa.”
“No—no—it’s not an achievement—” Joel argued weakly, but it did not stop the prideful grin spreading on Jimmy’s face. “Stop making that face! Jimmy, cut it out!”
Jimmy stopped grinning, feeling disheartened. “I guess…not. I can’t do that anymore, either. We should fix him up before he goes to Scotland Yard to address his diet and his attitude.”
Suddenly, he felt a chilling sense of danger. “No! Joel! It’s just a joke!”
“…You better.” Joel shifted his eyes away and tossed the cigarette to the floor. “We had to get him back on his feet again. I'm low on food, too.”
Jimmy took a nervous gulp and said, “You’re not going to eat me... Right?”
He could sense the eye rolls from behind those sunglasses.
“What! What is going on! Where are you taking me?!”
Grian shouted loudly as Joel picked him up from the loveseat and effortlessly threw him over his shoulder.
“Joel! Put me down!” Grian banged his fist on Joel’s back, still holding the remote control. “Julie is getting married! Put me back down! I said put me back down—”
His tantrum was interrupted by Jimmy, who took away his remote control and shoved him a bag of popcorn.
“Who do you think I am?” Grian glared at Jimmy, rage evident in his eyes. Jimmy leaned back in horror, away from him a little. “A toddler? Oh, I’m going to chop both of you into slices one inch at a time—”
“Can’t wait,” Joel said as he lifted him up slightly to adjust his position. “Just eat it and shut the hell up.”
“Where are you taking me?!” Grian banged on his back again, now holding a bag of popcorn, but still eliciting no response from Joel. “Put me down! I said put me down!”
“A charity shop,” Jimmy tried to pull off a nervous smile at him. “You like those, don't you? Great for saving?”
“But I want to watch The Love Boat!”
“Not happening.” Joel tossed him onto his bike parking outside. "You should make sure to follow up or I’ll bite your head off.”
“You can't just threaten me like that!” Grian shouted, but his voice was soon muffled by a helmet being put on him by Joel. He continued to spew out words, “Let's see whose head will last longer on their neck!”
“Oh my gosh—” Jimmy wailed, waving at the two engaged in a stare-down. “This is getting old! Let’s go already!”
Afterward, Jimmy spent half a minute deciding which bike he should ride. Neither option seemed particularly good, and the bikers were still locked in a stare-down. After careful consideration, he decided to get on Joel’s bike, which appeared to be the safer choice. Jimmy was certain that Grian would try to crash into something to get rid of him if he had the chance.
“Why does Grian have a bike?” he asked over the wind. “Did he own one before meeting you?”
“Nah,” Joel said, keeping his eyes on the road. “I think he got jealous when he found out I have one. He spent a lot of time learning how to ride it. He didn’t even know how to ride a bicycle before this.”
“I don't need to!” Both of them heard a roar from the biker beside them. “And I'm not jealous! Joel is spreading lies! Lies, I said!”
“Oh, he surely was,” Jimmy said to Joel, who simply shrugged in response.
Grian still looked quite grumpy after Joel forcefully pushed him into the first charity shop they encountered in the neighborhood, with his arms crossed and a deep frown on his face.
“How do I look?” Jimmy asked Grian, wearing a sailor cap, which only earned him an intense glare. “Alright… I guess that's not it…” He took the cap off his head and tossed it back into the pile.
“What about electronics?” Joel asked, bending down to a pile of old appliances on the floor. “You like these, don't you?”
“You really know very little about me,” Grian said, reluctantly, “to the point that it’s actually funny.”
“What—you never told me anything about yourself in the first place!” Joel turned to him, knocking a few things to the floor in the process, which made the clerk goggle in displeasure.
“I’m not your friend anyway.”
“Great. Let’s keep that way—”
“But I know a lot about you,” Grian interjected, still crossing his arms. “You’re wearing sunglasses because you’re overly self-conscious. There’s nothing practical about that.”
Joel came to a halt, appearing stunned and unable to speak.
“And,” Grian tapped his chin thoughtfully, “you’re dressed all in black because you think you look cool, but you actually look quite stupid, you know that?”
“No, no—you stop right here!”
“Aw, did I hurt your feelings?” Grian leaned toward him with a grin. “What are you going to do about it?”
“Guy—s!”
Jimmy squeezed his way between the two with all his might, trying to push Grian aside a little. “Calm down! Calm down!” He wailed. “This is a bad idea, isn't it…”
Grian turned his face to the side while Joel tugged at the collar of his leather jacket and began examining himself.
“Joel—” Jimmy exclaimed, smacking his forehead. “You look fine, I promise!”
Joel remained silent. He simply went back to the stack of old appliances.
“Grian…” Jimmy said, turning to the guy slowly. “You don’t—you don’t like this place?”
“I buy things here because they are cheap and easily disposable,” Grian grumbled, “it’s not because I like it—oh, look!”
Jimmy followed the finger pointing to the window, where a group of menacing-looking individuals in white t-shirts, black leather jackets, and baggy jeans walked past the shop.
“Uh, who are they?”
“My old acquaintance!” Grian waved his hands at the group, who all suddenly noticed his presence and stopped by the window, gazing at him with widened eyes. “Oh, they are so much better than you people.”
“…Are they?”
Jimmy muttered when he noticed one of them suddenly pull something from underneath his jacket and raise it toward Grian without hesitation.
It was a fucking pistol.
Jimmy screamed in utter terror and fell to the floor as the gun fired. Grian had quickly taken cover behind a shelf, pulling out his Glock, which seemed to almost manifest out of thin air. He laughed loudly, almost a bit manic. He held up the Glock and shouted over the gunfire, “Did you guys miss me?”
“Get him!”
A man shouted, and the group of guys jumped through the broken window.
“Oh, you will!” He pushed the shelf toward the incoming people, which slowed them down a bit. Without hesitation, the Glock fired a few shots at a man struggling to stand. Its owner then rushed toward the guy who was still near the appliances.
“What the hell?!” Joel still held a toaster to his chest as Grian quickly got behind him. A few gunshots fired at the toaster, shattering it into pieces. “No! I was going to buy that!”
The group of men stared at him for a few seconds, specifically at the holes in his torso.
Joel glanced down at what they were working on and let out a grunt.
“Grian—you can't keep doing this! I'm going to run out of bloody shirts!”
“Yeah, they’re bloody. Shut up and do something,” Grian spoke behind his back. “And Jimmy,” he turned to the man still on the floor, “don’t get yourself killed.”
Jimmy sat there, momentarily blank, then his face twisted after an ear-piercing shriek came from one of the men.
“Ew—”
He dodged the ear coming his way but couldn't dodge the head that followed.
“Joel—”
He wailed as he tossed the head aside. It was still warm.
“What!”
Joel turned to him with a headless torso under the heel of his Dr. Martens. He then raised a hand toward the incoming dagger and snapped it in half without looking, shattering the bones of the hand waving it.
“Just—mind where you’re going…”
Jimmy weakly held his knees against his chest when a leg flew past him through the broken window.
“I’m trying!” Joel said annoyed, kicking someone in the back. A sharp, crunchy sound echoed through the air, accompanied by more screams. “Stop bothering me!”
As he was about to speak, Jimmy felt something nudging him. Grian sat beside him, holding a bag of popcorn in one hand and his Glock in the other.
“Man,” Grian said as he stuffed popcorn into his mouth. A splash of blood splattered onto his cheek. “This is definitely much better than The Love Boat.”
It was nearly noon when everyone had finally died. The three of them sat on the stairs outside the would-be charity shop, enjoying the cloudy sky. Joel started poking the holes in his shirt, which made Jimmy wince.
“One, two, three, four, five…” He stopped counting and lowered his hand. “Grian, just… What did you do to them?”
Grian shrugged innocently, still enjoying his popcorn. "Do you really want to know?"
“I...” Joel took a deep breath before continuing. “Never mind. Where's the clerk?”
“I think she’s dead,” Grian said, tilting his head to the leg poking underneath a shelf at an unnatural angle while shoving a piece of popcorn into his mouth. “What, are you hungry?”
“No,” Joel said wearily. “I don’t want anyone to call the police.”
Silence enveloped the group, broken only by the crunching sound of Grian eating popcorn.
“…What is that?”
Jimmy pointed to a pink object lying on the pavement nearby.
“Someone’s intestine.”
Grian answered.
“Oh.” Jimmy mumbled. “Of course it is.”
As the trio sat together, they watched an old police poster warning people about the killers roaming the East End, carried by the wind through the lifeless street. Jimmy noticed a black car parked at the crossroad not far away.
“Uh, guys! Guys!” he called out, trying to stand up.
“Calm down,” Grian said as he pulled him back. “That’s just an old acquaintance of mine.”
“No! Not again!” Joel exclaimed, ruffling his hair in frustration.
“No, no, these guys are usually quite chill, I think…” Grian stood up to greet the pair of men in neat black suits walking towards him and gave them a welcoming smile. “How may I help you?”
One of them silently gestured toward the open car door, indicating for him to get in.
“Oh…” Grian looked back at the pair still sitting on the stairs. “Can I take them with me?”
Jimmy was squeezed between Joel on his left and Grian on his right in the backseat of the black car. The two men in black sat across from them, remaining silent throughout the journey. It appeared that Joel was recovering since he had stopped poking at his wounds. Meanwhile, Grian was peacefully napping against the car window.
Jimmy turned to the side and realized they were already at Westminster, with Big Ben in the distance as they passed by. The street was as busy as usual, and no one paid attention to the unassuming car.
The car came to a stop near Downing Street. A man wearing white gloves opened the door for them and jumped back in surprise when he noticed the blood on the trio. Grian stretched his arms and yawned as he got out of the car and stepped onto the polished stairs in front of a white building. Jimmy was actually thankful that it was not a black one, yet still had his doubt.
“…Why are we here?” He hesitated a bit before asking as one of the men in black opened the door for them. The man did not respond.
“Do you really want to know?” Grian turned to him and stared with his vacant eyes.
“I…” He sighed deeply. “Never mind.”
“Stay here, alright?” Grian said to the pair before he knocked on a set of mahogany doors. “And Joel,” he added specifically for the man, “come inside immediately when I give you the signal.”
“What? What signal—” But Grian had closed the door before Joel could even finish his sentence.
Jimmy decided to sit on the carpeted floor beside the door, and Joel soon followed him. It appeared to be expensive.
“That’s not the Prime Minister,” Jimmy said weakly, his eyes unfocused. "Right?
“…I hope not…”
Joel said feebly, too.
“…What is Grian doing with his life?”
Jimmy murmured.
“…You really want to know?”
Joel murmured back.
“…No.”
Jimmy murmured again.
After a while, Jimmy nudged the man next to him with his elbow. “At least he seems to be getting back on his feet and enjoying himself.”
“Yeah, but at what cost…” Joel shook his head. “But maybe…”
“…Yes?”
"We're starting to understand him a bit better," Joel said quietly.
“Isn’t that right?” Jimmy nodded. “He seems to be a—”
A gunshot rang out through the mahogany door, cutting him off. Joel quickly got up and kicked the door open, causing it to fall to the carpeted floor and revealing the chaos that Jimmy had already anticipated. Grian had his hands raised in the air while a man dressed in black stood in front of an older man behind a giant desk, aiming a pistol at his forehead.
“Joel!” Grian turned to the man with a bright grin. “Help me! He has a gun! Oh my god!”
That isn’t the Prime Minister. Jimmy exchanged a relieved glance with Joel after noticing the old man, who quickly pulled Grian behind his back.
“Ah! Joel! You’re so heroic!” Grian exclaimed exaggeratedly with his hands together. “Protecting a lawful commoner!”
“Bloody hell, shut up!” Joel grabbed the muzzle pointing at them and bent it, almost as if it were made of butter. “Who the hell even is this—Forget about it!”
Bloodbath erupted again, with human debris flying past Jimmy by the door frame. Grian approached him and casually placed an arm around his shoulder.
“I love this city,” Grian said happily, swirling his Glock on his fingertip as he enjoyed Joel yanking the old man’s lapel and raising a fist toward the man’s face. “Oh, I just love it.”
“Where did you even hide it—Never mind,” Jimmy said in defeat when the old man’s skull was cracked open, creating a sound that strangely resembled a watermelon. “Maybe you should keep it to yourself.”
“Can we go back now?” Jimmy wiped something from his hair that he didn't want to identify. “I already miss our base…”
“Nope. There’s more business I need to handle.” Grian replied, his eyes focused on the road. “This is what you wanted, right? Cheering me up? I’m actually quite enjoying this.”
He was driving the car they arrived in down the streets of Westminster. Jimmy and Joel sat together in the backseat, while two dead men in front of them limped from side to side with each turn Grian made. Joel remained silent, fidgeting with his thumbs, and there was now a crack in his sunglasses.
“Joel…” He turned to the guy. “Cheer up! Look how happy Grian is.”
Joel shrugged slightly without saying a word. He appeared defeated.
“Do you…” Jimmy reached forward and grabbed an arm from one of the corpses in front of them. They didn't have any use for them anyway. “Want a snack?”
“Sure, why not…” Joel accepted the offered arm, though he still seemed reluctant.
“It will help you recover faster!” added Grian. “Come on, we’ll need you when we arrive.”
“Is that all I am to you?” Joel grumbled as he took a bite, tearing off a chunk. “Am I just your bloody tool?”
“Always has been.” Grian nodded far too eagerly. “You’re lucky I found you first before those hunters, you know?”
“…I doubt it,” Joel said as he lowered the arm back down to his lap. “I thought Jimmy was our pet.”
“Aye!” Jimmy shouted.
“Ah, does that hurt your feelings?” Grian laughed loudly. “Now do you understand why I dislike your clothes?”
Jimmy turned his eyes to the corpses. All were dressed in black. Joel must have noticed it too, as he began tugging at his lapels once more.
“But you’re different, Joel,” Grian continued, this time in a calmer voice. “I don't think I hate yours as much, actually.”
This time, Grian led them to a nondescript apartment building further west. It seemed eerily quiet, with few residents and not a single light in the hallways.
“Is this—Is this your home?” Jimmy said, closely following Grian in the darkness, with Joel behind him. “What kind of place are you living in?”
“It’s not. It’s for storing my expensive items,” Grian said while approaching a door. He opened it using three different keys, one after another. The inside of the room was dark, and at first, Jimmy couldn’t see anything. However, whatever was inside startled Joel a little.
When Grian turned on the light, it startled Jimmy as well.
It’s just weapons.
A lot, lot of them.
The entire floor was covered with a variety of firearms, including pistols, rifles, and shotguns in different shapes and sizes. Boxes of ammunition filled the corners, and grenades were scattered throughout the room. Grian approached a regular drawer against the wall and struggled to open it, revealing the contents inside.
All folding knives.
“Ah-ha!” Grian picked one up and tossed it into the air. “Now I feel safer.” He finally caught the funny expressions of the two. “What? Never seen a guy with a job before?”
“I don't know. I think I'm okay with being jobless for now,” Jimmy whispered, gripping his elbow.
“…Yeah, me too,” said Joel.
“Oh, come on!” Grian exclaimed, raising his hands with a folding knife in hand. “I just showed you all my most precious possessions! Is that all the reaction I got?”
“Eh.” “Im-impressive.”
They mumbled.
“You guys aren't any fun.” Grian returned to the drawers, muttering as he searched through each one. After a while, he tossed something toward the pair standing nearby.
Jimmy gazed at the object thrown to him, rubbery in texture. The pair of large empty eyes looked back at him.
“No, we’re not going to…”
He heard a desperate voice from Joel.
“Yeah?” Grian nodded enthusiastically. “We’re going to rob a bank.”
Jimmy stared at the two corpses, now half-eaten, still swinging from side to side through the eye holes of the bird mask Grian had given him, which was yellow in color. Their driver wore a white chicken mask, which Grian liked a lot. Turning to the side, Jimmy noticed that the green ogre was looking his way too, still wearing a pair of cracked sunglasses over its eyes.
“Joel! Take them off!” he exclaimed in disbelief. “Why are you still wearing them?”
“Because I feel self-conscious!” Joel replied, adjusting his sunglasses slightly. “You look so stupid, Timmy.”
“Wha—just look at yourself!”
“I can't! I don't have a mirror, you moron.”
“Fellas,” Grian shouted from beneath his mask. “Stop calling each other by names! What if the cops hear us?”
“Alright, then,” Joel said, nodding to himself. “I’ll be the Thunder God.”
“No, you’re not!” Jimmy shot him a dirty look. “I’m not calling you that. No way.”
“How about the King of Mezalea?”
“What does that even mean?”
“I don't know. It sounds cool as heck.”
“Alright, alright, fellas,” Grian interrupted again, “just a poultry, a canary, and an ogre. No more silly names. Are we clear? Sir Ogre?”
The ogre lowered his head in defeat.
“…Fine…”
The bronze doors in the center, much taller than necessary, were covered in layers of black paint that had endured for over a century. Now lying on the floor, they revealed a high white marble arch above. Joel stepped on the emblems adorning the door, which featured a delicate caduceus, and cracked his knuckles.
“J—Sir Ogre!” Grian shouted in disbelief, raising an assault rifle with one hand. “We’re supposed to enter through the main entrance!”
“This is the main entrance,” Joel said, looking around at the chaotic crowd scattering in the servicing hall of the Bank of England. “Is it not?”
“No! That’s for the monarch—whatever!” Grian shouted, raising the muzzle of his rifle into the air. He fired a few rounds and then declared to the crowd, loud and clear, “This is a robbery! Put your hands in the air!”
He gave Jimmy a glance through his mask, and Jimmy immediately understood the cue. He pointed the empty assault rifle at the crowd, grateful that Grian hadn’t trusted him with a loaded one. People ducked and covered their heads in terror wherever he aimed it, which he found rather amusing.
“Where should we go, then—For God’s sake!”
Joel shouted as he held the bronze door up, using it as cover for the other two while rapid ammunition poured from the security guards.
“This is a bad idea! This is a bad idea!” Jimmy shouted against the door, where bullets ricocheted off, holding the rifle tightly to his chest.
“Be quiet,” Grian muttered, peeking behind the door and firing a few rounds before immediately hiding behind it. A guard collapsed to the ground, but the others continued firing. “Just don't get yourself killed. Sir Ogre?”
Joel sighed aloud, still holding the door against the bullets flying their way. "What?"
“Throw it at them,” Grian said, tilting his head toward the guards. Jimmy could feel the wide grin beneath that ridiculous mask.
Joel sighed once more and followed through with his task. In an instant, the bronze door flew and thudded loudly against the floor. As he dusted off his hands, he glanced at a pool of blood forming beneath it.
No more gunshots.
“Where are we going, then?” he asked Grian, who was jumping and shrieking in joy. “What are you trying to find? Gold?”
“Nope. What use do I have for gold, anyway?” Grian walked past the door on the floor, causing a dozen people to cover their heads. He tossed the magazine aside carelessly and clicked another one into his rifle. “Shall we move to the vault, gentlemen?”
He appeared to be in a state of pure ecstasy when he wandered through the central courtyard, shooting anyone who dared to stand in his way while ignoring their screams. He waved at Joel, urging him to open another door. Joel shook his head and kicked the door again, finally revealing the well-decorated hallway inside. As Jimmy tried to appreciate the view of the Victorian decor and the breathtaking sight of the courtyard through the arched windows—despite the blood and corpses scattered around, a muzzle pointed in his direction.
“You should start moving, Sir Canary,” Grian said cheerfully. “This isn’t a tour.”
“Alright, fine— ” he sprinted past the man, grunting, “You’re the worst, Sir Poultry.”
Grian fired his rifle at the ceiling, causing a chandelier to scatter in response. “I’m just having fun!”
As soon as they spotted the circular vault door, which was dark brown in color and buried several layers underground, Grian quickly threw a grenade at it. Jimmy began coughing from the dust cloud while his ears rang, but Grian was already tossing another grenade into the air playfully.
“Huh,” he said to the door, still intact. “I know one isn't enough. Alright, let’s see how that goes—”
He then threw it at the slightly burned door, causing another explosion. This time, the door bent upward a little.
“Alright, Sir Ogre?” He nudged Joel, who was still coughing heavily. “It’s your turn.”
“No! There’s no way I can—”
Before Joel could finish speaking, Grian threw the third grenade toward the door.
“How about that now?”
“Sir Poultry!” Jimmy shouted, removing his fingers from his ears. “I think I might be going deaf!”
Grian then turned to him and muttered a few words in response, “I’m going to murder you.”
“What?!” Jimmy recoiled.
“See?” Grian shifted his focus back to the vault door, which was now severely misshapen. “You’re doing great.”
The journey back to the East End was dull and uninteresting during the second half. The first half, however, was anything but boring; it involved a long and exhausting chase with the police, complete with some explosions. Initially, he feared he would end up in the River Thames, but Grian, as usual, seemed to know exactly what he was doing, even if he always appeared somewhat unhinged.
Grian was leaning against Joel, who, unfortunately, was in the middle this time. Grian was taking a nap on the last train of the night, which they had barely managed to catch. At that moment, they were the only ones left on the train, which seemed to be part of Grian's plan. As the train made a turn, Joel caught Grian from falling over at the last second while muttering a curse, although Grian appeared to be completely unaware of it.
Jimmy was yawning as well, and rightfully so, as he was still astonished by the day they had experienced. He looked down at the treasure that Grian was so eager to retrieve from the bank’s vault. It now sat in between his legs, covered in dust from all the chaos. The treasure was contained in an unassuming black case with a peculiar shape.
“What is this?” He held it up and asked Joel. “Can I open it?”
“Do you really think we want to know?” Joel asked, shoving away the messy dark blonde hair that was getting in his face. Grian was still sleeping against his shoulder.
“What could he possibly want so desperately that he’s willing to rob a bank for it?” He remembered the endless rows of gold bars they passed, which Grian seemed completely unfazed by. Nothing appeared valuable to him except for this unassuming case.
“It’s probably an alien artifact from his home planet,” Joel said, sounding disinterested. “He certainly seems like one.”
“Or perhaps it’s the Holy Grail, the one and only?” Jimmy set it back down on the floor. “The one that contained the Lord’s blood?”
“The Lord will be very displeased with us then,” Joel chuckled.
“Surely,” Jimmy said. “I think you won’t need it anyway.”
“Why?”
“They say the Holy Grail can grant you eternal life, right?” He glanced at Joel's jacket, which was in poor condition, with a few holes and bloodstains scattered across it, but he noticed there were no wounds. “It looks like you’ve already found it.”
Joel let out another dry chuckle and shook his head slightly. “God bless me, then. There’s nothing else left for me to wish for.”
“What could he be wishing for?” Jimmy raised an eyebrow at the man still sleeping.
“Not a single clue,” Joel sighed deeply. “We still don't know what the hell is happening in his life.”
“Sure seems fun and grand,” said Jimmy. “But he knows what he's doing, doesn't he.”
Joel remained quiet for a moment before asking, “So why is he with us?”
“Huh?”
“Does he really need us to begin with? Well, I guess he never needs you—”
“Aye!”
“—but I don't think he even needs me.” Joel ignored his shouting and continued. “He shared a sneak peek of the life he was having before us, and just looked at us.”
“I don't think he means to harm us,” Jimmy glanced at the sleeping man. “Isn’t that enough?”
“Is that all that matters to you?” Joel shot him a look. “Jimmy, use your brain—”
“And I am choosing not to!” Jimmy argued back firmly. “We, you and I, both need him to feed us, and you should never anger the chef.”
“Jimmy—”
“And he is very merciful.” Jimmy nodded to himself.
“In what way?”
“By sparing us from not telling what on earth is happening.” Jimmy smiled. “Isn’t that right?”
Joel pondered for a moment, “fair point.”
Grian finally woke up when Joel flicked his forehead after they reached their stop. He was yawning and lagging behind the other two, clutching the handle of his treasure while doing so. They walked silently toward their base, where Jimmy was certain all three of them would spend the night. A moon hung in the sky above the East End, partially concealed by a light silvery cloud.
Grian paused in his steps as they crossed the bridge near their base. Jimmy quickly noticed and nudged Joel, who turned to look at Grian as well. Grian gazed up at the half-moon without saying a word.
“Grian? Are you alright?” Jimmy asked gently. Grian set the case on the stone railing without responding and unfastened the buckles.
Inside it was merely a violin.
“Is that what you’re so obsessed with?” Joel asked, raising an eyebrow. “A bloody violin?”
Grian shot him a sideways glance and muttered, “Yeah?”
He lifted the neck of the violin and inspected its strings and body, concluding that it was in good condition after some tuning. Next, he uncovered a block hidden beneath a white cloth in the case, revealing it to be a block of rosin. He then picked up the bow from the case, applied the rosin to the bow hair, and positioned the chin rest on his shoulder.
“What? You know how to play?” Jimmy asked in surprise, which earned another sideways glance from the man. “Are you going to play it now? Which song?”
“I’m going to play you a lied,” Grian muttered, “and I’m not going to explain what it is.”
“I know what a lied is!” Jimmy protested. Upon noticing a glance from Joel, he whispered, “It’s… It’s a type of poetic music, so to speak. There's supposed to be a story sung along with it.”
“That’s right,” Grian said as he tested the bow. The sound, deep and rich for a violin, reverberated in the night sky. “It’s about a fae king chasing a father and son under the cover of darkness. The king continually tries to lure the son into his demise with sweet words and the promise of every beautiful thing the boy could ever imagine. The father tries to talk his son out of it, but the child isn’t listening. In the end, all the father is left with is a lifeless body.”
“Uh… Classical music, am I right?” Jimmy glanced at Joel, who shrugged in response. “Are you going to sing it?”
“No, but you can hear their words in it,” Grian said as he lowered his bow. “And that’s why I played the violin.”
“But why are you playing it now?” Jimmy asked. “Grian, I’m cold and tired—”
“It’s for celebration, all thanks to both of you.” Grian interrupted him and raised the bow again. “He got what he fucking deserved.”
Music began playing in a minor key. It was intense and dark. The violinist fixed his gaze on the river, with the dim factories in the distance, as his fingers moved skillfully across the neck of the instrument. The notes kept rising until they transformed into a tender timbre, shifting to a cheerful major key, as if a child were responding to the sweet words of a malice creature with each bounce of the bow on the strings, landing every frantic note precisely.
The notes suddenly became sharp and almost ear-piercing, screaming, panicking, and begging for help. The next segment was firm and strong, yet unsympathetic, only to be met with a piercing minor key from the boy once more. The creature spoke again in a calm, cheerful tone, but he was losing patience. The boy screamed, the father spoke, and the king was angered.
The dramatic interchange fluctuated until the main motif returned, soon twisted and exaggerated with an ascent that never ceased. A few softer notes followed abruptly as the boy succumbed.
Soft, yet sorrowful.
Ultimately, the piece was resolved with a prominent major chord.
The other two stood there in utter astonishment after the violinist lowered the bow, his hand trembling. Grian continued to gaze silently at the East End over the river.
He turned towards the pair, a tear sliding down his cheek, shimmering in the cold moonlight, yet he smiled through it. He then gently placed the violin back into the case.
“Let’s head back,” said the violinist. “Shall we?”
Notes:
If I have a cent for every assassin I wrote who has… nevermind
Chapter Text
“…in Poplar last Monday was determined to be related to a gang conflict…”
Grian yawned. He rested his head on the armrest of their loveseat. He held the remote control in one hand and tossed a half-broken baseball with the other. It seemed he was already bored with the morning news, impatiently waiting for the replay of last night’s episode of The Love Boat. Jimmy occupied the other end of the loveseat and occasionally yawned as well.
“…the Secretary of State for Labour, passed away peacefully at his home at the age of 71 due to health complications…”
“Health complications?” Grian murmured to the ceiling. “Getting a dent in your skull is definitely a health complication, isn't it?”
“…This issue will be addressed in the upcoming Cabinet meeting. Next, we have updated information regarding the recent robbery at the Bank of England…”
Grian turned his face to the television this time. “Do tell me, then. What did you find?”
“…the only missing valuable is a 1716 Salabue Stradivarius violin, also known as the ‘Messiah’, which belonged to the former House of...”
Grian suddenly turned off the tele and cut the broadcast short. He got up from his seat and stretched his arms.
“Alright, I’m getting bored,” he said to Jimmy after yawning. “Where is Joel?”
“We haven't seen him for days!” Jimmy shouted in disbelief. “Why are you asking about it now?”
“Is that right?” Grian said, leaning back in his seat and looking at the baseball he held in his hand. “Oh, that’s why this loveseat feels so much emptier. I understand now.” He spoke to the baseball as if he had just made a scientific discovery.
“Really?” Jimmy said, giving him a sideways glance. “You didn't notice?”
Grian shrugged. "I hope he's enjoying whatever he's doing nowadays. I'll miss him a lot."
“Grian—”
“Fine.” Grian sank deeper into the loveseat and tossed the baseball toward the fridge, which shook slightly since it was half empty at the moment. Grian decided they should keep a low profile for a while after that bank robbery, especially when Joel wasn’t around to argue against it. “Where in the world is he? This is getting ridiculous.”
“I’m—to be honest, a little worried,” Jimmy said, hugging his arms. “About… You know, if the hunters got him.”
“Why do you think I watch the news every morning?” Grian asked, giving him a skeptical look. “It doesn't seem like they've made any progress. We’re hearing less and less about people spotting these creatures since summer. If they had got one, it would definitely be on the news.”
“Oh,” Jimmy said, blinking quickly. “So you did notice.”
“And you’ve been living for far too long,” Grian replied, blinking back with his vacant eyes.
“…Grian,” Jimmy rubbed his cheeks, “Do you even understand what it means? Joel’s been missing! Mis-sin-g! We have to—we have to do something about it!”
“Like what?”
“Wha—give him a call!” Jimmy threw his hands up. “You have his number, right?”
No response.
“…right…?”
There was no response, just two black eyes staring back at him.
“You've been working with him for about a year! How can you not have his number?”
“He never gave it to me.”
“Did you ever ask him about it?”
“No.”
Jimmy buried his face in his hands, wailing, “I…sometimes really can’t tell which of you is the human.”
“Oh, come on!” Grian protested. “It’s not like he’s ever gone missing before!”
“Where could he be, then?” Jimmy lowered his hands. “We can't just let him wander around. Is he—is he done with us?”
“How could he?!” Grian exclaimed, jumping slightly in his seat. “How dare he?! What did I do wrong?!”
"Perhaps you used him too much as you wished," Jimmy murmured.
But Grian surely caught him whispering. He smiled brightly and flicked out his folding knife's blade, “Alright, it’s time for a stab.”
“No! No—”
The only idea they managed to come up with, following Grian chasing him around the base with a knife and sharing some popcorn once Grian got tired, was to travel through the more populated neighborhoods on Grian’s Suzuki. They concluded that spotting Joel wouldn’t be very difficult, as they just needed to look for a guy wearing black sunglasses on a cloudy day, with a strand of dyed green hair. However, after wandering through the streets for a couple of hours, Grian decided to call off the search.
“Where is he?” Jimmy paced back and forth while Grian leaned against his bike, swirling his helmet in his hand. “Maybe he’s at home? Grian, do you know where his home is?”
After receiving no response, Jimmy turned to the man, who immediately averted his gaze.
“Never mind!” Jimmy slapped his cheeks. Then he quickly thought of another idea but felt a bit reluctant. “Uh, Grian…”
“…Yes?” Grian turned his gaze back to him slowly.
“Can you… Um…” Jimmy hesitated for a moment. “Can you sniff him out?”
Grian looked visibly disgusted. “Excuse me?”
“It’s... It’s...” Jimmy stuttered. “Scott, that hunter mentioned he could smell these creatures after some training. You’ve spent enough time with Joel, haven’t you?”
“What kind of smell?”
“Not a clue. He did mention something about the smell of death.”
“Oh—” Grian said with widened eyes and a clap of hands. “I thought that was just his body odor!”
Jimmy pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes shut.
“Anyway…” he reluctantly reopened his eyes. “Can you at least give it a try?”
Grian began to sniff around exaggeratedly, stretching his neck.
“Oh, yes,” Grian murmured, “there’s definitely a hint of a scent…”
“There is?!”
“Uh-huh. Something citrusy. Yes, definitely. A bit like dried bergamot. And…” Grian closed his eyes for a moment. “Cheesy.”
“…Cheesy?”
“I know where he is.” Grian quickly opened his eyes and got on his bike without saying another word.
“Oh, I should have gotten extra toppings,” Grian grumbled, noticing that only bare chips were left in their paper box. “Now it’s just chips! Not even a lick of gravy!”
They sat on a bench at the edge of Chrisp Street Market, sharing a box of cheesy gravy chips. As usual, Grian paid for it, which Jimmy had come to take for granted.
“They’re definitely stingy with their mozzarella,” Jimmy said, nodding in agreement. He stared at the chip on his plastic fork. “So…are we giving up?”
“Yeah,” Grian said while shaking the box, searching for leftover gravy hidden in the corner. “I’m getting hungry already. I think we should call it a day.”
“Wha—” Jimmy lowered his fork. “How can you just give him up?”
“What else should we do, then? Call the cops?” Grian threw the now-empty box into a nearby rubbish bin. “I’m sure they’ll be happy to listen to us.”
“But he's—he’s our—”
“He’s our —what?” Grian mocked. “What, Jimmy, what?”
“…I don’t know,” he mumbled, feeling disheartened. “But how can you give up on him after he took so many bullets for you?”
“Not that I need him that much,” Grian said, arms crossed. “I was doing fine before I found him on the street anyway.”
“…Well…”
Their attention was suddenly diverted by a burst of commotion from a nearby intersection, not far from the street market. A construction site occupied half of the street, with fences surrounding it and a deep pit in the middle for the foundation. Construction workers were busy pouring concrete mixtures and installing steel mesh. However, the shouting was coming from a different area nearby.
A driver inside a white van shouted curses at a construction worker who was holding a stop sign in the middle of the road. The worker, dressed in a neon yellow jacket and wearing a white plastic helmet, stood about a yard in front of the van.
“Move!” shouted the driver through the rolled-down window at the worker. “Where’s the traffic, mate? Move!”
The worker knocked his knuckles against the stop sign while holding a burning cigarette, remaining silent.
“There’s no traffic! Are you bloody blind?”
The worker didn't say a word and took a puff.
“Alright, watch yourself then.”
The driver honked for a few seconds before moving the van again.
A loud clang suddenly burst into the air.
The nearby workers all looked on with concern as the van came to a sudden stop, this time with a jolt. The worker, still holding the stop sign, slowly removed his hand from the engine hood, leaving a noticeable dent in the metal.
He ignored the frantic shouting from the driver and held up a timer that was attached to his chest, quickly glancing at the countdown through his sunglasses. He flipped over his stop sign, which now displayed “SLOW,” and stepped aside without acknowledging the driver.
The worker continued smoking his cigarette while the white van sped away from the scene before his eyes.
After seeing the exchange, the two people on the bench in the distance began wailing.
“Oh…my gosh,” Jimmy exclaimed, rubbing his cheeks in despair. “Please tell me that’s not… My lord…”
“Jesus…” Grian exclaimed, pressing his hands firmly against his temples. “No…”
“Why is he here?” Jimmy exclaimed, releasing his hands and nearly in tears.
“What is he doing?” Grian joined. “Why does this have to be the career path he chose?!”
Jimmy struggled to catch his breath. “Does he finally lose it?”
“When did he ever have it, anyway?” Grian exclaimed, pointing an accusing finger at the figure in the baggy neon yellow jacket. “Just look at him!”
After quickly checking his timer, the worker stepped back onto the empty road and flipped the sign to “STOP” once more.
They shared a quiet ride back to their base on Grian's bike and closed the rolling door, each beginning to panic in their own way.
Jimmy was pacing back and forth in front of the tele at a speed much faster than before. Disorganized notes played in the background from time to time. “What’s Joel thinking?! Did he—did he just get a job?!”
“I’m truly sorry for calling you jobless,” Grian said regretfully while absentmindedly plucking the strings of the violin in his lap. “I didn’t realize it would be the last straw to break him.”
“He can't have a job! He’s a murderous, cannibalistic monster! He can't just find a job like this! This is not fair!”
“Is that your top priority right now, Tim?” Grian exclaimed. “What is he wearing? Neons! How is that going to fit in his stupid color scheme now?”
“I thought you hated his black coats!”
“I do! But I hate that one even more!”
They looked at each other for a moment before both letting out a sigh.
“So he really just…” Jimmy lowered his head. “Move on. He’s really done with us.”
Grian paused for a moment before he began strumming his strings again. “It’s all your fault, Timmy.”
“How is that my fault!”
“Things were going well between us before you joined in,” Grian said bitterly. “So it must have been you he was trying to get rid of.”
“Oh really? Am I the problem?” Jimmy shot him a hard glare. “Who’s using him like a shield?”
“He doesn't even feel pain!” Grian pushed his violin aside. “What would that matter to him anyway?”
Jimmy glanced at the guy in the loveseat for a moment. "Do you..."
“What!” Grian huffed.
“…Have something to tell me?”
Grian turned his face to the side and let out a chilling chuckle.
“Grian—what did you do to him?!”
“I did nothing. He’s the one being overly sensitive,” Grian hugged his chest and muttered. “Just leave him be, then. Let him do whatever he wants with his stupid immortality.”
“No, Grian… Whatever horrific things you did to him, you need to go tell him you’re sorry,” Jimmy said weakly, but Grian showed no reaction. “We can't let him wander around town like this. What is he even eating right now? I’m genuinely worried.”
“I don't know. I hope he's eating his new co-workers.” Grian picked up his violin again and started plucking it. “They must taste better, I bet.”
The following morning, they sat in complete silence as they watched the news.
“He...” Jimmy said, rubbing his forehead. He slowly sank into the loveseat. “He really did...”
The silence between them lingered while the news continued broadcasting, now featuring interviews with frightened neighbors and colleagues of the victim.
“Do you know the victim?”
“Yes,” replied the Local Construction Worker, dragging a cart filled with concrete bricks behind him while the reporter chased him with a microphone. He didn’t even look at the reporter, although it was hard to tell.
“Could you provide us with more details about your relationship?”
“Co-workers.”
“Have you noticed any suspicious activity in the area?”
“No.”
“Do you believe it is safe for you to continue working here?”
“Yes.”
The reporter paused during her chase when she began to get out of breath. The construction worker had quickly disappeared from the camera's view.
“Wow, what an unusual man. And why is he wearing sunglasses when it's pouring rain?”
Grian turned off the tele without saying a word, and Jimmy felt grateful for that.
"We have to stop him," Jimmy murmured at the dark screen.
“Uh-huh.”
He saw a firm nod and a serious expression on Grian’s reflection.
They waited for a few hours until the rain finally lessened, and then they got back on Grian's bike. By the time they reached the same area in search of the construction site, the first thing they noticed was police tape covering the entrance to an alleyway near the street market. There were a couple of officers guarding the area, which was alarming, to say the least.
“What was he thinking?” Grian said in disbelief, his voice low when they approached the police tape. “Why is he doing it so close to his workplace? Doesn’t he know he’s never good at cleaning up?”
“Yeah, you tell me…” Jimmy winced as he saw blood splatter against the brick walls. The body was nowhere to be found, likely because the cops were busy cleaning up the scene. All that remained were some chalk markings on the floor. Judging by their shapes, they no longer resembled a human figure. Two police officers stood by the taped-off fence facing toward the crime scene, and their conversation caught Jimmy’s attention.
“Did you call that American? He’s been the one dealing with these creatures, right?”
“What? Which American? There's no American at Scotland Yard.”
“You know, that blue hair fella. Always gives you an icky feeling.”
“Scott? Oh—” the officer exclaimed, bursting into laughter. “He’s not a bloody American.”
“Then why was he in the United States? Didn’t he just arrive this summer?”
“For firearms from the U.S. army. Haven’t you seen the new toy that he's been carrying?”
“Yet you wonder why I thought he was an American!”
Jimmy quickly pulled Grian away, who was busy trying to peek through the laughing officers’ shoulders. “Did you hear what they’re saying?”
“Oh well.” Grian muttered to himself. He shifted his gaze to the construction site nearby. “I guess Joel’s gonna die again…”
“No! Don't give up on him…yet.” He pushed the grumbling man away from the crime scene. “Let’s see if we can talk him out of this.”
The construction worker they were looking for was nowhere to be seen. It appeared to be lunchtime, and Jimmy was relieved that Joel seemed to understand the social cue, at least pretending to have a normal lunch. He spotted a couple of workers, also wearing neon yellow jackets like Joel's, sitting on a roadside curb, happily enjoying their sandwiches. Jimmy greeted the men while pulling Grian along, who occasionally sighed to himself.
“Uh… The newbie?” The workers exchanged glances. “I don’t know. Maybe he’s outside smoking again. That’s all he does—smoke by himself. He mentioned he’s not really into the idea of lunch.”
Joel… What does that even mean?!
“No, no. He's been a great help around here. He’s carrying stacks of concrete mix as if they’re nothing! We don't even have a clue how he manages to do it. He just looks so young and flimsy.”
Grian rolled his eyes dramatically.
“No, he doesn’t talk much. He seemed a bit shy here. He just does his job and rarely chatted with us.”
The thought of Joel remaining silent all day chilled Jimmy.
“Sunglasses? Well, he mentioned that he has eye conditions, and he gets quite annoyed whenever someone brings it up. At first we thought he might be a gangster or something similar. Don't get me wrong but—who dyes their hair like that? Plus when he first arrived, he was dressed all in black and riding a bike. By the way, how do you know him?”
“Uh, he’s…” Jimmy scratched his head. “A distant cousin of mine. I'm worried about him after hearing the news.”
“Oh,” one of the workers said after taking another bite of his sandwich, “tell him to watch out for the monster; we all feel too uncomfortable to talk to him.”
“Good for you,” Grian nodded politely at the worker, which drew a humorous expression from the man. “Keep up the good work.”
“Alright, he’s really taking his job seriously,” Jimmy said, pacing back and forth with his hands in his pockets. He stopped in front of the guy leaning against the Suzuki. Grian was enjoying another box of cheesy gravy chips, which seemed to be his newfound passion. “Grian, just…for the love of God,” he said wearily, “tell me what you did to him.”
Grian halted his plastic fork as it reached for another chip, “I’d rather kill you.”
“Alright then!” Jimmy leaned closer to him, slapping a hand on the bike’s seat. “Do it fast then tell me!”
It startled Grian. He grunted in frustration, darting his eyes around. “It’s… it’s… I…”
“You what?”
“I brought him a new pair of sunglasses because his old ones were cracked!”
Grian fell silent right after completing the sentence in one breath.
“…Huh?”
Jimmy blinked slowly.
“Then he just left! He didn't even say thank you! I told you I didn't do anything,” Grian said, stabbing a chip with his fork aggressively without looking up at Jimmy. “I don’t understand what gets to him. Why is he like that? Now just look at him!”
A very tall stack of concrete mix passed by the construction fences nearby. It wasn't hard to guess who was carrying it underneath.
“Do you think…” Jimmy struggled to articulate his thoughts. “He’s trying to…earn money?”
“What for? Oh…”
Grian stared in disbelief for a while, his mouth hanging open.
“Why didn't we think of that sooner?” Jimmy lamented. “What kind of sunglasses did you give him, anyway?”
“…Cartier?”
A heavy silence settled between them.
“…They even make sunglasses?”
“Uh-huh.”
“I…can't believe how truly terrible you are at socializing. It's just…unbelievable...”
“He can simply reject it,” Grian said, displeased. “I didn't force him to accept it.”
“That’s not how it works…” Jimmy reclined against the bike beside him. “You don't—you're never supposed to do that! Just throwing someone you barely know with luxury!”
“I worked with him for a while… I know him.”
“You don't even have his phone numbers!”
Grian didn't say a word.
“Grian—” Jimmy wailed, “you have to tell him you had no ill intent.”
“What should I do? Should I ask him to give it back? We don’t even know what he’s saving for! Is he actually going to pay me?” Grian returned to his chips, poking at them in frustration. “Let’s just leave, shall we? He seems to be doing just fine on his own. He’s eating well and working hard. I don’t see any problem with that.”
“No! Just look at all these cops—” Jimmy waved his arm in the direction of the police tape in the distance, and then his body stiffened.
A man stood among the officers, sporting bright blue hair and wearing a green Hawaiian shirt, along with a black case on his back. To Jimmy's horror, the man quickly realized he was being watched and abruptly stopped chatting with his colleagues.
“Jimmy!”
He pulled a hand out of his trousers pocket, waving at Jimmy energetically with a bright, beaming smile under his orange sunglasses.
“No, no…”
Jimmy grabbed onto Grian, who was still busy eating chips, and hid behind him for cover. Scott had started sprinting toward them while adjusting the strap of his case, still waving at Jimmy with his whole arm.
“Who the hell are you?” Grian said to the man, unimpressed, as he shoved chips into his mouth.
“Oh, me?” Scott asked, raising his eyebrows and pointing to himself. “I’m his friend. You can call me Scott.”
“I’m not your friend!” Jimmy shouted, looking at him over Grian’s shoulder. “Leave me alone!”
“Oh—so you are that hunter, aren't you?” Grian tossed the fork into the box and lowered his hand toward his pocket. He smiled and said, “Timmy told me eve—rything about you.”
“I am!” Scott reached out a hand towards Grian. “And you are—?”
“You can call me Mr. Poultry,” Grian said, ignoring that offer while gazing at Scott. “Or Sir Poultry, if you prefer.”
“Al—right?” Scott retrieved the hand awkwardly with widened eyes. “Are you too a friend of that creature roaming around town?”
“What, you want a word with us?”
Grian was still hovering his hand above his pocket while maintaining eye contact with the hunter, who looked back at him with curiosity.
“Not really. I know you two wouldn’t want to cooperate,” said Scott. “There’s little help I can get from civilians anyway, so I’ll handle it on my own.”
“You can?” Grian’s smile widened as he tilted his head. “Tell me what you can do, then. Flip a car over?”
“Hmm,” Scott thought for a moment with a serious expression, “I don't think I can. I'm just an ordinary human.”
“A very, very overly confident one,” Grian remarked, carefully emphasizing each word.
“Grian,” Jimmy whispered to the man in front of him, “Stop engaging with him.”
“Oh, come on, Jimmy,” Scott laughed. “I’m not going to disappear easily like that. I’m—let’s just say, quite stubborn.”
“Stubborn?” Grian scolded. “In what way?”
“Stubborn about keeping you safe,” Scott said, but his smile faded. “I’m afraid I’m not overly confident about it.”
Jimmy unintentionally grabbed Grian's arm after Scott spoke. Meanwhile, Scott gave the nervous guy hiding behind Grian a little wave.
“Anyway,” Scott said, lowering his hand, “would you mind having a cup of tea with me?”
“Not again…” Jimmy protested weakly.
“I’m sorry, Jimmy,” Scott said, offering him an apologetic smile. “But I don’t take no for an answer.”
The night had fallen. Scott wasn't lying when he said he wasn't expecting cooperation from the two people at the table, and he wasn't lying about having tea, either. They were seated in a corner of the mostly-closed street market, barely sheltered by the glass ceiling above. The tea was served in paper cups by the only shop open at that hour, brewed from tea bags, but Scott didn't seem to mind. He was enjoying his tea peacefully. Occasionally, he glanced at the few passersby moving through the empty market while engrossed in the novel he was reading, deliberately avoiding any conversation with the two people who were glaring at him.
They hadn’t seen Joel even once, which was the only positive aspect of this long afternoon.
“Are you using us as a trap?” Grian asked, breaking the stillness in the air.
“Uh-huh.” Scott tapped his fingertips on the paper cup slowly, turning a page in his novel. “Took you long enough to notice.”
Jimmy held his forehead.
“He’s not coming,” Grian spoke again. “This is getting ridiculous. Let us go.”
“Oh,” Scott replied, resting his novel and lifting his paper cup. “Please let me enjoy the aroma of my tea a while longer. Are you fond of Earl Grey, Mr. Poultry?”
“I’m not here for your tea-talk,” Grian uttered, “We haven't seen him for weeks.”
“Do you like it or not?” Scott asked again, leaning closer to Grian with the cup in his hands. “Just give me an answer, and we’ll see. That’s a promise from Scotland Yard.”
“I hate it,” Grian said with a stiff smile. “I was never fond of Earl Grey.”
Jimmy glanced nervously between the two, feeling a bit confused.
“Lying to a copper, aren't you, Mr. Poultry?” Scott laughed, then leaned back in his chair. “Maybe you know more about it than our good old Jimmy here.”
Jimmy wanted to speak up in protest, but he ultimately chose to remain silent.
“I don't know what you are talking about,” said Grian. “I'm afraid I don't know him very well.”
“But did you smell it or not?” Scott asked, resting his hand on the table and tapping the edge of his paper cup. “Earl Grey?”
“What about it?” Grian asked, then noticed a worried glance from Jimmy.
“I didn't order Earl Grey,” Scott said, lifting the tea tag from the cup and flicking it between his fingers playfully. “This is Darjeeling.”
Grian fell utterly silent afterward.
He watched the hunter—specifically, the tea tag—without blinking.
“Perhaps you've been misled by something else in the air mixing with my tea, dear Grian,” said the hunter. “It has a citrusy scent, with a hint of floral notes. But it's dried and quite strong. Are you thinking… I don't know,” Scott chuckled, “Bergamot?”
Grian remained silent as his hand reached for his pocket once more, slowly but steadily.
“…Grian…” Jimmy muttered to him. “Please, calm down. We can't. He’s a…”
“You can't— what?” Scott said with interest. “Are you planning to attack a police officer, Sir Poultry?”
Jimmy squeezed Grian's arm tightly, but Grian was still clutching something in his pocket.
“You really should listen to Jimmy, Grian.” Scott raised his cup of Darjeeling and took a sip. “You see, I’m never going to harm you. You’re a human, a subject of Her Majesty, which means I would protect you at all costs.”
“I don't need your protection,” Grian said coldly.
Scott tottered his head noncommittally in response.
They shared an even more uncomfortable silence for a long time. Jimmy could feel the sweat soaking his shirt. Scott had finished his tea, and Grian, having released his grip on his pocket, was now watching the hunter with his arms crossed.
Joel must have left, Jimmy thought desperately as he glanced at the time on his watch. It was ten o'clock in the evening. The construction site in the distance was quiet; it seemed the shift had long ended.
But why is he—
He lifted his gaze to the hunter across from him, who was still reading that novel.
Why is he still waiting?
It must have been the scent of the dead, still lingering in the air. Or, just as Scott said, he was a very, very stubborn person.
As he felt soreness from sitting in the chair for so long and was in desperate need of a stretch, they suddenly heard a scream.
A long, desperate, horrified scream shattered the tranquil foggy night. It sent a chill down Jimmy’s spine. Grian immediately stood up in response, prompting Jimmy to follow without a second thought.
“Oh, really?” they heard the indifferent laughter of the hunter behind them as he snapped his novel closed. “What can you even do?”
Grian stopped in his tracks, his gaze fixed on the source of the screaming. At least fifty yards away, two figures stood beside a building, illuminated by a streetlight but mostly obscured by thick fog. One silhouette loomed over the other. The scream echoed in the air, becoming increasingly agonizing with each passing second, causing Jimmy to ponder the limits of the human vocal cords, even while the owner was being torn to shreds.
What an unpleasant thought.
He hunched his shoulders and stared at the pavement, feeling his body tremble uncontrollably.
“Poor Jimmy,” Scott said, giving him a gentle pat on the back. “You'll be fine.”
He turned stiffly to the man, only to glimpse something black flashing before his eyes. It was massive and seemed too heavy for even the hunter to carry.
“I got some new bullets.” Scott stepped between the two, clipping a magazine that was much wider and thicker than his novel onto the Barrett M82, and walked past them. He then pulled the chamber harshly, dropping an empty shell to the ground. “We’re going to see some fireworks, Jimmy. It’s your lucky day.”
He rested the stock of the rifle on his shoulder, tilting it slightly.
“…No… No!”
Jimmy shouted in desperation.
The hunter pulled his trigger.
At first, the world felt quiet.
After a few seconds, he finally heard something: the high-pitched ringing in his ears. The gunshot had been louder than the grenades, or at least that’s how it felt to him. The recoil made the muzzle jump upward, but the hunter maintained control. With a bright grin, Scott raised his rifle and positioned it securely on the ground.
“Whoa!” He lifted his sunglasses and glanced at the figure once standing in the fog. “That was loud!”
The silhouette.
Jimmy felt as though the air were stuck in his lungs.
The chest up of that silhouette was gone.
Like it was cut in half by scissors.
“Alright, I'm going to call an ambulance. There’s a chance the victim is still alive. We should never give up hope, right?” said the hunter when he walked past the pair in utter silence. He gave Jimmy a pat on the shoulder and asked, “Do you need help?”
Jimmy turned to him slowly without saying a word.
“You know,” Scott said, giving Jimmy a gentle nudge. He offered him a soft smile, too. “I can help you with your mourning.”
Jimmy began to chuckle. He swatted the hand away.
“…Damn you, Scott.”
The hunter laughed heartily, resting his rifle on his shoulder as he strode forward.
“Many have!”
The hunter let them go, simply for the fact that they were never his target in the first place.
None of them wore helmets on their way back. After sitting on the seat behind Grian and watching the night view blur past their bike, Jimmy spoke.
“Why didn't you stop him?”
“You really think I can?”
Grian said back calmly.
“You can—You can… You can at least do something! Anything! He's just a human!”
“…That’s not a human,” Grian said, remaining composed. “That’s a demon.”
“Oh, even compared to you?”
“No, Jimmy,” Grian muttered, “whatever we were dealing with just now, that wasn't human. He acted quickly and remained calm the entire time. He’s toying with us as if we were an inferior species. And he’s incredibly strong. Oh God, is he strong… He just stood there, still, when he fired that monster. It would break my bones if I ever dared to do the same—”
“That’s all excuses! Why didn't you do anything, you son of a bitch!”
Jimmy erupted with anger, his chest aching from the intensity of his roaring.
“…Because…”
Grian twisted the handle a little bit and accelerated the bike.
“That wasn't Joel.”
He turned to Jimmy over his shoulder, wearing a victorious grin. Even a little devious.
“Even if I don't know a damn thing about him,” Grian went on, “I know he never let them scream like that.”
They parked the Suzuki outside their base, where a Yamaha was already parked.
Jimmy nearly shouted in surprise, but Grian quickly hushed him. Grian then lifted the rolling door slightly to minimize any noise. It was dark inside, which was not unexpected. Grian shot a quick glance at Jimmy, who joined him in raising the rolling door.
“Joel!”
They shouted in unison as soon as the door was opened.
“Ahh!”
A scream echoed in the darkness, but it quickly faded away as Grian turned on the light bulb. Standing by the open fridge, clutching a plastic bag full of organs and flesh to his chest, was the creature they had all come to know too well.
“Bloody hell!” Joel briefly dropped the meal he was stealing from the fridge but quickly caught it at the last moment. “What’s wrong with you morons?”
He was once again wearing his black Mackintosh coat, along with a pair of new, shinier sunglasses, still black.
“Oh no!” Grian exclaimed, smacking his forehead in mock despair. “We have a theft!”
“I’m not bloody stealing,” Joel said, pulling out a chunk of frozen lung from his bag and biting into it. He spoke with his mouth full, “I’ve been starving for days. You better leave me alone or—”
Jimmy interrupted him by throwing his arms around him in a hug.
Lung juice must have gotten on his shirt. It would be difficult to clean off, but Jimmy didn't mind.
“Timmy—”
Joel attempted to free the snack he was holding from Jimmy’s tight embrace, and also himself. But from what Jimmy could feel, he wasn't trying very hard.
“Let—go of me! I…can't…take a bloody breath!”
“Where have you been, huh?” Grian sat on the loveseat and threw the struggling creature an eye. “Wanna explain yourself?”
“I got—” Joel tried to nudge away from Jimmy again, but only received a tighter hug. “I have some personal stuff— Jimmy, get off me! I’m going to bloody kill you!”
“And?” Grian raised a finger toward the brand-new television in front of the loveseat. Big and shiny. “What is this?”
“…I stole it,” Joel mumbled, finally deciding to let Jimmy be. He raised his hand, holding his snack, and munched on the lung while Jimmy continued to squeeze him, acting indifferent. “Tell me how cool and amazing it is. Say it’s your new favorite thing.”
Notes:
Blame @exug for the career path Joel chose
Chapter 7: Camden
Notes:
TW for this chapter: mention of self-farm, major character injury
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
He woke up to the sound of the rolling door being lifted and opened his eyes. The video tape was still playing on the new tele. Grian had explained that these old movie tapes, which he had scavenged at a suspiciously low price, would give Jimmy something to do when they weren't around to keep an eye on him. Honestly, he didn't have much to complain about.
He poked his head toward the pair entering the storage unit at night, and it seemed that their department store trip had been successful.
“Joel—!” Grian, already dressed in his costume, held the door open. “Get in there! I can't keep this up forever!”
“…I don't want to…”
He heard a somewhat hesitant voice coming from behind Grian. After a moment of pondering, Joel stepped forward with his head down and shoulders hunched.
“Oh, wow,” Jimmy said while looking him up and down. “So you went with Dracula.”
“It’s all Grian’s fault,” Joel mumbled, shoving Jimmy aside to take a seat on the loveseat. He wore a black cape with a crimson red lining, completing his costume with a black vest over a white pleated shirt that had puff sleeves and a high collar. Joel kept trying to adjust that collar around his neck. It didn't seem too comfortable.
“Hey! You chose that!” Grian released the rolling door and squeezed himself between the two, causing complaints and making Joel try to yank his cape out from underneath Grian. “And who paid for it, huh?”
“You brought me here in the first place! The other options are Smurfs and the Wicked Witch! What else can I choose from?” Joel tossed the edge of his cape onto Grian’s lap. Then, he turned to Jimmy and wailed, “Tim, what on earth are you wearing?!”
Jimmy adjusted the curly blonde wig on his head and confidently declared, “I’m the Prime Minister.”
Grian and Joel exchanged a glance before both focused on Jimmy’s royal blue suit and skirt.
“No,” Joel said weakly, “you’re not.”
“Jimmy,” Grian said calmly, taking his hands and looking directly into his eyes, “this is inappropriate.”
“Whose fault is it that I'm jobless, then?” Jimmy pulled his hand back from Grian and grumbled. “I can choose to be whoever I want for Halloween, and this is who I want to be. And Grian—how can you say I’m being inappropriate when you are—Wait, what are you?”
Jimmy pointed toward the silver cross hanging from Grian’s neck. He wore a full black cassock and a bright purple tippet.
“Yes?” Grian shrugged. “I’m Father Merrin from The Exorcist. Oh—I also bought a Bible to complete my outfit.”
“Why do you want to become an exorcist?” Joel rested his chin on his fist and shook his head, turning his gaze toward the tele. “Who are you trying to get rid of?”
“Ah, poor Joel,” Grian nudged him, “you can't be banished to hell twice, I’m afraid.”
Joel responded with a soft hum.
“Alright,” Jimmy said as he stood up from the cramped loveseat. “We should get moving! It’s getting quite late.”
“Are we really taking the tube dressed like this?” Joel grumbled.
“It’s Halloween, alright?” Jimmy tried to pull him out of his seat, which resulted in more grunts. “Everyone will be dressing up silly.”
No one else dressed silly.
The trio took their seats on the train and stared at their reflections in the dark windows opposite. Everyone around them was undoubtedly not dressed in costumes and kept peeking at them funny.
“Have you considered the fact,” asked Dracula, “that it's going to be a weekday?”
“No,” Jimmy said, staring blankly at his reflection. “I lost count of the days because I don’t have a job.”
Grian, on the other hand, began reading his Bible and subtly moved away from him. He seemed to decide to act as if he didn't know the two and was just a random priest taking the tube.
“We’ll be fine,” Jimmy said mostly to himself, “as long as we’re at the pub.”
“Is this really worth it for a few free drinks?” Joel mumbled, also mainly to himself.
“Can Joel even drink those?” Grian asked, keeping his eyes on the Bible.
“Can you?” Jimmy asked as he poked Dracula’s shoulder.
Joel crossed his arms and remained silent.
Grian spoke again once they reached another stop, asking, "Where is it, anyway?”
Jimmy looked at his watch and said, "It’s in Camden."
He carefully studied Joel's reflection in the dark window. From what he could tell, there was no noticeable reaction.
It turned out that Joel couldn't drink, just as Grian had suspected.
Jimmy attempted to ease his back while he was experiencing a severe coughing fit outside the crowded pub. A few people dressed in costumes were lined up by the entrance, next to a poster that read "Halloween Costume Party Night—Come Dressed." They cast worried glances in his direction.
It only took one sip of a Manhattan. That's all.
Once the coughing finally subsided, Joel was left gasping for air. Jimmy almost suggested offering him some water but hesitated at the last moment. Inside the pub, Grian was likely enjoying the live music and indulging in all the free drinks. For most of the party-goers, the night was just beginning.
“I'm sorry...” Jimmy said to Joel, who took out a pack of cigarettes and leaned against a lamp post. “I-I didn't know...”
“It’s not your fault.” Joel lit it up and took a deep drag. His voice was hoarse from coughing. “I didn’t know, either. I guess alcohol counts as food for me.”
Jimmy laughed and said, “But tobacco doesn’t count?”
“I’m not eating a cigarette—Well, I guess I wasn’t eating that cocktail either…” Joel stared at the tip of his burning cigarette. “It must have something to do with digestion, then.”
After a few seconds of silence, Jimmy decided to ask quietly, “Can I ask how it tastes?”
“What, that drink?” Joel laughed. “I can't even explain it to you, Jimmy. It’s not something I ever felt when I was still your boss.”
“Come on! Remember when I told you how good your cookies are?” Jimmy said expectantly. It was just a curiosity that hadn't left his mind since their reunion. “Maybe you can do the same? Please, Joel, please—”
“Alright, fine…” Joel sighed deeply and ran his fingers through his hair. “It’s bloody painful.”
“Wait, really?” Jimmy asked, his eyes widening after receiving a nod from Joel. “Can you still feel…pain?”
“It doesn't happen very often, which is why it's so jarring,” Joel said after taking another puff. “It hurts, Tim. The moment I felt it on my tongue, it was incredibly bitter. Then my throat started to hurt…a lot. One time, I even tried to force myself to swallow a piece of candy, and…”
Joel didn't bring himself to finish; only the music pouring from the entrance lingered in the air.
“You…tried?” Jimmy broke the silence, sounding a bit nervous. After receiving a shrug from Joel, he added, “It’s okay, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to—”
“I tried to cut it out of my stomach with gardening scissors,” Joel went on abruptly, “because that was how unbearable it was. I didn't know that I would never experience pain in the same way as I did back then, but stabbing myself still felt like a better option than having to endure that feeling.”
Upon noticing the paleness on Jimmy’s face, Joel quickly chuckled. “Isn’t that what you wished for, Tim?”
“I’m…so very sorry to—”
“You don't need to,” Joel muttered, holding the cigarette to his lips and turning his attention toward a white dome rooftop looming in the distance. “Is that your old uni?”
“Yeah,” Jimmy quickly nodded, grateful that Joel had shifted the topic. He glanced at the buildings Joel was pointing to. “I visited this pub a lot after I finished my... You know.”
Joel stared at the white dome for some time, silent. The band had just finished playing a song, and the crowd inside the pub cheered loudly.
“Jimmy,” Joel said after taking a puff of his cigarette, “what do you want from me?”
“…What?”
“Why did you bring me to Camden?”
Jimmy stood there, unsure of what to say, avoiding the gaze that was certainly directed at him behind the dark sunglasses.
“I thought…”
He grasped the fabric of his sleeves and looked down at the pavement, observing the red lining of a black cape spread across it.
“…It could cheer you up.”
A cigarette butt was being thrown toward the brick pavement in front of him.
“Huh. Isn’t that right.”
The voice, nearly drowned out by the live music playing in the background, didn't appear to be raging, but it still frightened him.
After receiving no response, the voice continued, “That’s not why you brought me here, Jimmy.”
“…Joel, I don't meant to upset you—”
He then noticed a movement to the cape on the floor and heard the voice again.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” Joel said as he stepped past him without looking his way. “And that's the best I can offer.”
“Wait… Joel?”
Jimmy turned to him sharply, only to see him walking away from the pub's entrance.
“Where are you going?!”
Jimmy’s exclamation received no response, and Joel soon left the pub and the crowd behind.
Before he vanished at a street corner, Jimmy spoke to him one final time.
“…Who am I really talking to?”
His voice shook, and he clenched his hands into fists by his side.
Joel paused momentarily, and the only thing remaining in Jimmy’s view was the edge of his black cape.
“No, I meant to say that it’s not a rubbish show!”
The first thing he heard when he re-entered the busy pub was shouting from Grian. Grian stood by the bar, leaning toward a man with a skull mask.
“You said it's better than Doctor Who! What on earth is wrong with you?” the guy shouted back. Both of them seemed a bit tipsy, and Jimmy blamed himself for allowing Grian to finish all the free cocktails. “It’s nothing but a ridiculous American soap opera!”
“Yeah. And I like it. It’s much better than whatever the BBC has going on, anyway.” Grian leaned closer to the skull mask, almost face to face. “What, you want to fight me for it?”
A few bystanders let out muffled laughs at the pointless argument, eagerly anticipating a fight that seemed imminent. However, Jimmy was determined to prevent that from happening. He quickly hugged Grian from behind and began to pull him away from the bar table. Grian turned to him sharply, his cheeks flushed with the scent of alcohol.
“Jimmy! Let me—go!” Grian shouted, struggling fiercely. “I have to teach him a lesson!”
“No, no, you don't…”
“Wait, what are you wearing?” the skull mask guy asked Jimmy, shaking his head solemnly. “Young lads these days—”
He was suddenly interrupted by a Bible hitting him on the head.
“Ha!” Grian exclaimed, still with his arm raised, as he struggled against being dragged away. “That will teach you a damn lesson!”
After Jimmy finally squeezed both of them out of the entrance, Grian rolled up the sleeves of his cassock and glared at him with his hands on his waist, “What’s that about, huh?”
“I was about to ask you the same!” Jimmy shot back, matching Grian's glare. “You need to sober up! Joel, he…”
“What, did he eat someone?”
Jimmy grunted and looked away from Grian's reddened cheeks. "I think Joel is back at the flower shop."
“…Excuse me?”
“I think he got mad at me. I tried to bring him back to Camden after I saw the flyer about the Halloween party, but I think he knew what I was trying to do. I… I don't know. I just feel lost.” He spoke quickly, until he was out of breath.
“And?” Grian asked, increasingly confused. “What are you trying to do, exactly?”
“I'm trying to cheer him up…”
Jimmy weakly said and took a seat on the entrance stairs. He quickly realized he was wearing a skirt and adjusted his posture.
“I thought maybe he would feel more comfortable talking to us if he had a few drinks. Perhaps he would even feel a bit nostalgic if we were back at Camden.” Jimmy looked up at the white dome above the buildings across the street. He continued quietly, “Then it turns out he not only can’t drink anymore, but he also hates Camden. And now he’s just left…”
Grian stood by Jimmy’s side for a moment before forcefully pulling him up from the stairs.
“Grian!” he wailed, holding the fabric in despair. “I’m wearing a skirt…”
“Stop whining, Maggie,” Grian said with a hearty laugh. “Do you know where his shop is?”
“Of course I do!” After finally finishing his adjustment, he looked up at the guy in alarm. “Wait, what are you going to do?”
“Go find him and kick his butt!” Grian clenched his fists against the tippet on his chest. “He can't treat us like this! How dare he leave me over and over again!”
They left the pub, and his old university was no longer visible in the distance. Halloween night in Camden was bustling, filled with live music venues. Street vendors were scattered throughout the area, heavily focused on selling cheap costumes to drunken students. With each passing Halloween, there were increasingly more pumpkin decorations, but people didn’t seem to mind. Grian even had brought a pumpkin-shaped bucket filled with candies for himself and graciously shared some with Jimmy along the way.
“Man, this is where Joel lived?” Grian exclaimed, popping a chocolate into his mouth as he looked around at the joyful people on the street. They were all dressed in silly outfits and just as tipsy as he was. “This place is extraordinary!”
“He never told you?”
Grian shrugged.
“You know him. He never shared any information about himself, and we aren’t friends.”
“You two…” Jimmy sighed deeply. “Has it ever bothered you?”
“Huh?”
“You never really know much about each other,” Jimmy gave Grian a sideways glance. In response, Grian started tearing another candy wrapper. “I know you want to keep your life private, but…”
“Oh, come on, Timmy,” Grian urged, pushing the candy towards him. “Stop ruining my mood.”
“But look at us,” Jimmy said as he took the candy reluctantly. “We’re trying to find him because he left again, and he never wanted to share anything with us. It shouldn’t be like this. He was a pretty nice person, you know, before all of this.”
“Jimmy, he's literally a—”
“And you keep saying this,” Jimmy said, shifting his gaze from the candy in his palm to Grian. “You say it because it makes your life easier. But deep down, you know it’s not true. You know how hard he tried to be nice to us. No one does a week of physical labor just to repay total strangers they don’t care about.”
Grian stared back at him for a moment, still chewing on chocolate. Afterward, he said, “That’s why he chose you, huh?”
“…What?”
“That day," Grian said, his gaze fixed ahead, "when you suddenly ran away, I told him that we didn't need you anyway and that you were probably just going to the cops. I suggested that we should change our location and go into hiding for a while. Those seemed like reasonable suggestions, right?" After receiving a nod in response, he continued, "And then he shoved me.”
“He… He what?!” Jimmy exclaimed, jumping slightly. “Are you—are you alright?!”
“He left me with some bruises, that's all. But I couldn't move my arm for an entire day and had to take some painkillers.” Grian patted himself on the shoulder before letting his hand fall. “After he did that, he said, 'Stay out of it,' and then dropped the door in front of my face while I was still struggling to get up from the ground.”
Jimmy found himself at a loss for words.
“It wasn't your fault, Jimmy,” Grian continued. “You’re frightened by him just as I am. I don't know what he did to take you back, but I can't imagine it had anything to do with flowers and kindness.”
“I honestly don’t even know why I came back,” Jimmy said quietly. “He didn't do anything to me.”
“Oh, how nice of him!” Grian laughed coldly. “Then he tried to cheer me up with you by dragging me out of our base by force. Do you see a pattern here? He never cares about my opinions because he doesn’t have to. He’ll get whatever he wants because of who he is. That’s why he never bothered to talk to us, and he never will.”
“No, that’s not it. I think he's just...” Jimmy slowed down and hugged his arms. “He’s just angry and... lost.”
“And you said,” Grian paused and faced him, “I tried to make my life easier. I think you’re projecting here, Jimmy.”
“No, no, I’m not…” Jimmy muttered as he quickly walked past Grian. A glimpse of something red caught his attention and made him stop.
Below a number of advertisements stuck to a wall plastered with fly posters, he noticed the lower half of a photo that was already faded and torn in several places.
In a hurry, he tore off the advertisements, revealing the bold red text on the poster.
MISSING—Please Help Us
Beneath the red text, there was a black-and-white photo of a man in an apron. He had a strand of slightly lighter hair peeking out from underneath his dark locks. The man was kneeling on the grass, holding a joyful puppy and sporting a shy smile.
Our dear friend and family, Joel Beans
"Is that really his surname?” Grian asked, pointing at it. “Oh, how adorable.”
“Don't tell me he…”
“Uh-huh. I don't think he thinks it's something I need to know.” Grian turned his gaze away from the smile. “And why is he missing? Well, I suppose the police never found his body. Were you looking for him, then?”
“No, I didn't,” Jimmy said quietly as he stepped away from the wall. “I stopped working for him a while ago to focus on graduating. I didn’t even know he went missing. Even if I had known, I would never have believed this is what he had become.”
The next moment, a blade was stabbed into the poster, specifically targeting the name of the missing person. Grian took out his folding knife and began scratching off the name with clear irritation.
“Wait! Grian! What are you doing?!”
He tried to pull Grian's wrist away from the poster, but the damage was already done. Grian looked down at the work he had created, a proud grin on his face, and murmured under his breath, “Things like him don’t deserve a name like this.”
Jimmy was unable to formulate a response.
The tiny flower shop was no longer there. To be more precise, it had turned into a vacant storefront with a "To Let" sign hanging by the window. Gone were the buckets filled with flowers of various shapes, sizes, and colors that used to clutter the front door, making it difficult for people to walk by. There were no longer any delicate potted plants displayed in the window. The only remnants indicating it had once been a flower shop were the faded letters of "Beans' Botanical Boutique" on the green shop sign.
Joel wasn’t there either. Jimmy looked at the empty windows, and for a moment, he was able to reconnect with the fragmented memories of this place. He remembered a busy florist behind those windows on a sunny afternoon, tending to bouquets and caring for each of his floral arrangements.
“Ew! What is that?” Jimmy quickly tossed aside a rose he was busy dethroning. “Boss! There’s a bug!”
“A ladybird!” Joel lifted the rose and carefully inspected the small creature hiding among its layers of petals. “Hello, you little beauty,” he whispered softly to the creature and gently poked at its red shell with his finger.
“Get rid of it! Get rid of it!” Jimmy flinched away from the ladybird that was now crawling onto the florist’s hand.
“Oh, come on, Timmy, it won’t bite you.” Joel reached his hand toward the terrified young man, along with the ladybird. “I’m keeping it. You better introduce yourselves to each other.”
“WHAT!”
“It can help around the shop.” Joel grabbed a pot of pink azaleas and let the little creature crawl onto its branches. “It can eat all these nasty pests. Much more useful than you, Timmy.”
“Oh, I'm so sorry I can't eat bugs for you—”
“He’s not here,” Grian said, noticing that Jimmy was lost in thought. “I can't smell him.”
“Does he really have a scent?” Jimmy mumbled, shifting his gaze from the vacant windows. “Why can I never smell it?”
“Maybe you just haven’t spent enough time with him yet,” Grian said, glancing around the street. Although some people were still out and about for Halloween, it was getting late. “Once you recognize what it is, you can never unsee it. It’s revealing something that is deeply wrong.”
“But didn't you and Scott keep saying it smells citrusy and floral? It even makes you mix up his tea.”
“It’s not pleasant, Jimmy. It makes you uneasy,” Grian said, turning back to the sign hanging in the empty window. “Scott was right; it’s the smell of death.”
“What? What’s the deal with you this time?”
He grumbled when his boss shoved him deeper into the shop. He had a lecture on macroeconomics to attend right after his shift, and just thinking about it was already giving him a headache. He really wasn't in the mood for any more of Joel's antics.
“I have something exciting to show you! Stop complaining!” Joel pushed the grumpy young man toward the wall. He could tell his boss was grinning just from the cheerful voice alone.
It was just a bare wall before, but now there is a watercolor sketch hanging on it.
“Ta-da!”
Joel raised his hands to show it to Jimmy, smiling brightly.
“You…drew this?”
Jimmy examined it carefully from top to bottom.
“Yes.”
Joel placed his hands on his hips and gave Jimmy a firm, deep nod.
“Now tell me how cute it is.”
“I…” Jimmy said, stepping back from the window, “I think I know where he is.”
“Jimmy—you said the same thing earlier!”
“No, no…” Jimmy took off the wig and ruffled his hair. “I'm… sure about it this time.”
“You do?” Grian tilted his head curiously. “Where is he, then?”
He took a deep breath and glanced at the moon hidden by the gloomy clouds. “He’s still in Camden.”
Grian was the first to stop as they entered a peaceful neighborhood. A dozen terrace houses lined each side of the street, with most of the lights turned off. The only illumination came from the street lamps along the sidewalk.
“He’s…”
Grian grabbed Jimmy's sleeves and made him stop as well. He spoke in a low voice, almost like a whisper.
“He’s here.”
Jimmy squinted his eyes toward the dark street but was soon interrupted by Grian, who pulled him behind a stone fence of someone’s yard.
Then, he heard footsteps approaching.
They sounded like Dr. Martens.
He peeked around the fence and saw the person they were searching for in the distance, still wearing a black cape with red lining. Joel wandered past each house slowly and stopped by an unassuming one.
Unassuming, except for the delicate garden in the front. Although none of the flowers were blooming in late October, the garden was still tidy and well cared for. Joel stopped by the iron gate and looked up toward the first floor of the house.
Afterward, they heard a dog barking.
It was loud and deep, waking up anyone in the house and turning on the first-floor light.
“No! Meri, no! Where are you going!”
The voice was bright and cheerful, just as Jimmy remembered it.
When the owner of the house opened the door, Joel had hidden behind a lamp post. Fortunately, the light wasn't shining in his direction, allowing him to remain hidden in the shadows. A large, fluffy dog jumped out of the door and raced towards the lamp post, but its owner, dressed in bright pink pajamas, quickly called it back.
“Meri! Meri!” She clapped her lap and called the dog, who whined sadly, “Get back here!”
The dog made a few more sorrowful little noises when it returned to her and sat beside her feet.
After a few seconds, she cautiously stepped forward in her slippers and scanned her front garden.
“…Hello?”
Everything was quiet.
“Is anybody there?”
…
She stood there for a while, enveloped in the complete silence that surrounded her.
Soon after, she went back into her house but didn’t close the door. The dog followed her inside and then back out. This time, she was carrying a bowl of something that took Jimmy a while to recognize as candies. The dog happily circled around her feet, barking a few times at the lamp post.
She opened the front gate to her yard and set it down on the sidewalk.
“Happy Halloween,” she said softly, “trick or treat.”
She stood up, closed the iron gate, and returned to her house.
After the door slammed shut, the creature in the darkness stepped out of the shadow. Joel crouched down and picked a piece of candy from the bowl.
He picked it up, a hint of a smile appearing as he watched the pink candy in his hand. It was almost unnoticeable.
It faded, however, when Joel caught a glimpse of the movement behind the stone fence.
“Joel! Slow down! Joel!”
He was out of breath as he tried to catch up with the man in front of him. Joel had not said a word since their departure, and Jimmy was desperately attempting to talk to him the entire time they left the neighborhood. Camden was empty and quiet in the early morning. The streets, littered with the rubbish left behind by party-goers, now belonged to just the three of them: Joel, who seemed to want to shake them off once again; Jimmy, struggling to catch his breath; and Grian—
“Stop!”
Grian shouted to Joel, who still showed no signs of slowing down.
“I said stop, you bastard!”
A gunshot fired into the sky echoed down the street.
This time, it worked.
Joel turned slowly to face them, while Grian lowered his pistol.
“What the fuck is wrong with you, Joel?”
Grian stepped forward and grabbed the lapels of his cape.
“Talk to us!”
Grian shook his lapels.
No response.
"Grian, don't..." Jimmy said when he grabbed Grian's shoulder, but Grian ignored him.
“Talk to me!”
Grian shook his lapels even harder.
“I said talk to me! Say something! ANYTHING! ”
After a lengthy and uncomfortable silence, Joel spoke up.
“Let me go.”
His voice was quite the opposite of what Jimmy had anticipated; it was lethargic.
“No, I'm not going to,” Grian said, still holding him. “Unless you talk to me—”
“I have nothing to say to you.”
“You surely have!” Grian shouted, “Say you’re sorry! Say you’re mad! Say you’re—”
“I have nothing to say to you.”
Joel repeated.
Grian lowered his lapels.
“…What’s your surname?”
He asked under his breath.
“Why are you asking me this now?” Joel replied. “I don’t know yours either.”
“It's because you never paid attention to me, you moron.” Grian spat out the words. “What is your phone number? Where do you live?”
“Why do you need to know?”
“Because I was searching for you!” Grian raised his voice once more. “You left us without saying a word! I thought you had been caught! I thought you were dead! I was watching the news every single day, praying to God that I would never see your stupid face—and you dare to ask me why I need to know?!”
“I know what I was doing,” Joel said calmly. “And so were you. You never told me why you needed me to kill a minister or rob a bank for you.”
“Because you hurt me!” Grian shouted. “You hurt me, you jerk! And you pretended you didn't know what happened? What is wrong with you?”
“And your method of revenge,” Joel continued, “Is to use me as a tool.”
“You don't even feel pain! So why does it matter to you at all?!”
Initially, Grian received nothing but silence in response.
“…Is this how you see me?”
Suddenly, they heard a voice that sounded slightly shaken.
“Then tell me this, Grian: why are you even with me in the first place?”
Grian stepped back and let out a chuckle.
“What would you like to know?”
“It's because I'm useful to you.” Joel, on the other hand, stepped forward. “But why are you scared?”
“I’m not fucking scared—”
“No,” Joel interrupted. “You’re the one who’s scared of me. Why, Grian? Why?”
“Because you're a fucking monster!”
Joel watched him as he panted after the roaring.
He allowed the silence to linger. Then, he raised a hand and removed his sunglasses.
“Then just treat me like one.”
He folded it up. The glasses clicked against the arms, creating a sharp sound in the air. He raised them toward Grian.
Grian didn't take it, “What are you doing?”
“I'm returning these to you,” said Joel. “They belong to you.”
Jimmy stared at the face that had once been concealed by sunglasses for a long moment.
This time, when he saw it, it felt strange to him.
Is this what Joel looks like?
He wondered to himself.
There was no trace of emotion on that face, nor was there a kind-hearted, playful smile gracing it.
And these.
The pair of eyes, with slit-shaped pupils, fixated on Grian, shimmered oddly in the artificial light.
These eyes did not belong to the person he once knew.
“I don't need them,” Grian rejected once more. He could tell there was anxiety hiding inside that voice, seemingly too unsettled by the pair of eyes that undoubtedly resembled nothing human.
“You don't want them?” the creature said, smiling faintly while shoving them into his pocket. “Great. I won't be needing them either.”
“What? Are you trying to intimidate me?” Grian asked, his voice shaking slightly.
“Yes, I do,” the creature replied, glancing at Grian. “You know what I am.”
Grian didn't say a word. Instead, he raised his Glock and pointed the muzzle toward the creature’s chest. The muzzle was shaking. Its owner struggled for air.
“Please, Grian,” the creature shifted his eyes to the side, away from the trembling muzzle, still holding a faint smile. “You know you can't kill me like this.”
Grian held the pistol, his finger pressed against the trigger. The muzzle was aimed at the heart.
Yet, he didn't fire.
The creature observed him with indifference when he lowered his hand.
“I know.”
Grian allowed the pistol to slip from his weakened grip.
“I know, Joel,” he said with a weary chuckle, “I know.”
In an instant, a hand gripped his neck and forced him to the pavement.
The creature loomed above him, pinning him down with complete apathy. Its hand barely moved, despite Grian's desperate attempts to scratch it or pull it away from his neck.
“Joel!”
Jimmy screamed in terror when the creature lifted him up and dropped him against the surface again.
After a muffled sound, he was completely still.
The brick pavement beneath him was broken into pieces.
Jimmy covered his mouth, breathing in short gasps and unable to make a sound.
Grian’s hands, once clutching the force around his neck, now rested at his side.
However, the creature continued to hold onto him.
“…Stop!”
Jimmy lunged at the creature, gripping his shoulders with his eyes tightly shut.
“Stop! Boss! Stop!”
The creature didn't let go.
“Please…”
Jimmy whispered.
“You don't want to do this,” he continued, “I know you don't want to… Please, Boss, please…”
This time, the creature relaxed his grip.
“I know why you brought me to Camden, Jimmy.”
Joel muttered.
“It’s because you want to see someone dead.”
Joel looked down at the unconscious person beneath him. There wasn't much blood, just a mark on his neck.
Jimmy quickly knelt down to Grian, extending a hand toward his face.
“…Grian?”
He called.
What he felt on his fingertips was the faintest sensation of a breath being released.
“We have to—We have to—call an ambulance—”
He turned to Joel, stuttering.
Joel watched him for a moment, then took a step back and turned away from them.
“Go ahead, then, Jimmy.”
The cape of his Halloween costume floated briefly as he left.
“You want to keep him alive, don't you.”
Jimmy watched the figure step further and further away. He wanted to make him stop. He wanted to yell at him. He wanted to plead for him to stay. But the words stuck in his throat.
At that moment, he sensed something was present, as if it had suddenly entered his mind.
It felt like something beyond this mortal realm.
It was a scent. A scent that was reminiscent of a citrus, with a subtle floral note.
But it was strange. It was twisted.
As if he were facing something that was once pleasant, now slowly decaying in the cold morning wind on the first day of November.
Notes:
More artworks by @mi3-14 for this au:
https://www.tumblr.com/mi3-14/778797330517393408/doodles-for-urban-appetiteblink-heavily
https://www.tumblr.com/mi3-14/778802198176022528/for-urban-appetite-whatever-is-going-on-between
https://www.tumblr.com/mi3-14/778095865660309504/for-urban-appetite-chapter-3-added-something
Chapter Text
Unemployment Rate Continues to Rise, Public Deserves Answers.
He glanced at the bold headlines of today’s Daily Mail that the passenger beside him was reading. Below the headline was a smaller title announcing that Scotland Yard declared London would finally be considered “safe” for the first time this decade. He stared at the photo of an officer smiling pleasantly until the passenger flipped to the next page. He then decided to check his watch.
Twelve-thirty.
He intended to wake up earlier and catch the first train available, but the police questioning that took place this morning left him feeling deeply exhausted. He rubbed his eyes and face in an attempt to wake himself up. Then, he raised his head to check the route map and counted his stops.
…
“Oxygen on.”
“AED?”
“Charging at two hundred. Clear.”
A high-pitched note echoed through the air.
He then saw that the hand on the pavement shook briefly for a second.
“Three hundred.”
“Clear.”
The same note echoed through the cold night once again, and the hand trembled before it fell lifelessly onto the pavement.
“Do you know his name?” asked one of the paramedics, addressing the young man standing nearby.
“No,” he muttered. “I don't know him.”
The paramedic remained silent, concentrating on the patient. She lifted the pacemakers from his chest again, allowing another paramedic to place an oxygen mask on the patient’s face for a moment, then saying, “Four hundred.”
“Clear.”
…
“Stay with us, place stay with us.”
…
“His…”
Jimmy spoke quietly before the paramedic raised her equipment again, prompting her to turn to him.
“I think his name is Grian.”
“Alright,” the paramedic said, refocusing on the patient. “Stay with us, Grian. Can you hear me?” She then said to her colleague, “Five hundred.”
“Clear.”
“Grian, please. Stay with us.”
The pacemaker was pressed against his chest once more. After a brief shock, the hand lay still on the pavement.
They informed him that they were taking the patient to the nearest hospital. When they told him which one, he felt a deep sense of irony.
He counted his stops once more in silence. The lifeless thumping of the train was the only sound in the cabin.
“You don't know him?”
“I don’t,” Jimmy said, trying to remain calm before the police officer. “I met him at a pub, and he was quite drunk. He told me his name and nothing more.”
“Did you see his attacker, then?”
“No,” Jimmy attempted to maintain eye contact with the officer and shook his head slightly. “I lost sight of him for a while when he wandered off. I didn't hear any screams.”
He stepped onto the stairs, and a light rain greeted him as he emerged from the underground. He raised his umbrella and looked for the grey peaks in the distance. Once he spotted them, he began walking towards them.
He returned to the uni, now surrounded by scenery that had once seemed dull and irritating to him a couple months ago, as he made his way toward the hospital.
“Could you please take me to University College Hospital?”
Jimmy spoke to the officer just as the questioning was over.
“I’m not a taxi,” the officer replied, visibly displeased. “What, do you want to see the victim?”
Jimmy fell silent for a moment.
“He’s alive, from what I heard,” the officer said in a gentler voice this time. “His vitals are stabilizing. There’s nothing for you to worry about. It’s not your fault.”
Jimmy remained silent.
He walked past the buildings, fixing his eyes on the gray peaks. Bitterly, he thought to himself that he never expected to return to this place under these circumstances. He was undoubtedly the opposite of what everyone had promised him, and now he was on his way to see someone who represented the opposite of the future he had dreamed of.
He saw bustling students around him, all heading toward halls and departments without lingering under their umbrellas. However, one of them spotted him as they walked past and called his name.
“Hey! Jimmy!”
“…Hey.”
He paused and attempted to smile at his old acquaintance.
“I didn’t expect to see you back around here! Where have you been? How is the job hunt going?”
“Quite decent,” he replied. “But it was a tough battle. Things aren't going well these days.”
“Yeah, it was first the hellish monsters that came from nowhere, and now this. Man, the world sure isn't treating us well. But that's when our major comes in handy, right?”
“Uh-huh.” He nodded, not wanting to break the expectation in the upcoming graduate’s eyes. “Now, if you’ll excuse me…”
“Are you going to the hospital? What happened?”
He paused for a moment and gazed at the gray peaks, saying, "I am going to visit a colleague of mine."
He stared at the new television, not turning it on, while sitting on the loveseat. He tried to sleep, but it wasn't working. The storage unit felt emptier than usual.
He tried to think of where Joel might be, but quite frankly, he found that he didn't care much. He turned his eyes toward the violin that leaned against the loveseat after being lost in thought.
“You’re right,” he said, “he’s better off sunk in the English Channel.”
“What is the name of the patient?”
He looked at the nurse for a moment, and it was obvious that his gaze made her uncomfortable.
“I know his first name is Grian,” then he said quietly. “He was involved in an assault last night.”
“Oh,” the nurse said, grabbing a clipboard from a cabinet behind her at the nurse's station. “You need to make special preparation, then; he’s in the Intensive Care Unit and still in critical condition.”
“Does he—”
“No,” the nurse handed him the clipboard and tossed him a pen. “He’s still unconscious. He suffered a severe concussion, and it’s hard to know when he’ll wake up. Sign here.”
Jimmy quietly wrote his name on the form without saying a word.
A soft, repetitive electronic noise echoed in the room, emanating from a monitor that displayed a heartbeat line in front of a light blue curtain. His eyes traced the tubes and lines leading to the person in the bed. The skin around his neck appeared gray and still somewhat resembled a handprint.
There wasn't much bandaging visible on him. The doctors said his injuries were mostly internal. If Jimmy could manage to ignore the life support system that tangled him, he appeared almost as if he were sleeping peacefully. Jimmy adjusted the uncomfortable mask covering his mouth and nose. He reached out his hand, clad in latex gloves, and gently held the hand with IV tubing attached to its arm.
“Grian,” he said, “I come to visit.”
The beeping continued in the background, accompanied by the gentle white noise from the oxygen pump.
“You don’t look very menacing when you’re asleep,” he said, smiling beneath the mask. “The doctors might even consider you a normal person when they save your life. They’re much better at preserving lives than you are, just so you know.”
…
“I should have said I don’t know you. It was foolish of me to do that. I would never want to know someone as horrible as you.”
…
“I don’t know where he is,” he continued. “And I can't even confront him. There’s nothing I can do, and neither can you. All I can do is watch him walk away, leaving you behind. You were right, Grian. I was projecting. The truth is, I really don’t know what he is. You don’t know either. And I’m afraid he might be the most clueless one among us.”
…
“When you wake up,” he said softly, lowering his hand gently to the bed sheet, “we’ll go find him and kick his butt. We’ll find a way. I’m not sure how, but maybe I’ll even try to find Scott. Why are we dealing with monsters and demons?” He let out a small laugh. “Well, I suppose you’re not exactly a normal human either.”
…
He suddenly stepped back and scanned the unit, finding only the light blue curtain surrounding them. His breathing began to shorten. His fists began to tremble at his sides.
It was that scent again.
That unpleasant smell of bergamot.
When he stepped out of the double doors of the unit, the lingering smell still hung in the air. He glanced around at the nurses and doctors passing by in the hallway, but he couldn’t see the creature. Instead, he noticed a nurse approaching him with an apologetic expression on her face.
“Could you…” she glanced at the doors, “we need to know his basic information, especially his full name and date of birth. Is there any clue you may provide us?”
“…What’s the reason?” he asked, frowning.
“We need his date of birth for record-keeping and to estimate his age. Also, we should locate his family or relatives to contact them.”
“I’m afraid I truly have no idea. He never shared any information about—”
“Grian Wardlow.”
He was interrupted by a voice coming from not far behind him, which made his heart almost jump out of his chest.
“I know what his birthdate is,” the creature in a black trenchcoat said, stepping beside him. He wasn't wearing sunglasses. “It's 1955.”
Upon seeing Jimmy's terrified expression, Joel quickly glanced back at him and then lowered his gaze again.
“Could I please have a contact number for emergencies?”
Jimmy scratched his head. There really wasn't a phone at the base.
“Have mine.”
Joel stepped forward and told her his phone number.
“Alright, that will be enough for now. Thank you for your assistance.”
Jimmy watched the nurse leave and then turned to the creature beside him.
“Don't scream,” Joel mumbled without looking up at him. “He needs some rest.”
“I’m not going to,” Jimmy said, pulling down his mask. “How dare you—”
“To check if he’s alive, stupid,” Joel said, stepping away. This caused him to shout almost instantly.
“Stop, you son of a bitch!”
Joel stopped.
The staff around them looked at the shouting man in disbelief. Soon after, a nurse quieted him and removed both of them away from the doors, almost by force.
“I told you not to scream, you idiot.”
Joel uttered, still not looking up.
“I’m going to call Scotland Yard and have them give you a vivisection,” Jimmy said back.
“Great,” said Joel. “At least they know how to kill me, not like you people.”
“Oh! Magnificent!” Jimmy nudged his shoulder. “So that's what's on your mind? It seems like we’re on the same page!”
“Please be quiet!” A doctor walked by and shot them a harsh glare. “This is a hospital!”
Joel responded by stepping away and taking a seat on a nearby bench. After a brief consideration, Jimmy chose to do the same.
There was an empty seat between them. Joel took out his pack of cigarettes and received another glare from the staff that made him hide it away.
“Is that really what you think you’re doing?” Jimmy asked, glancing away from the creature. “Check if he’s still alive, then go to the police?”
He received no answer, which gave him a profound sense of irritation.
“Say something, you bastard.”
He still received no answer, but he heard some movement of fabric and a little noise that sounded like plastic. He turned to the creature and found a piece of pink candy in his hand.
Joel peered at it between his fingers, then looked up at the cloudy sky visible through a window across from them.
“When I tried to eat that last year,” Joel said quietly, “I thought it could fix me. Silly, wasn't I?”
He threw it to Jimmy, who caught it reflexively.
“But it can't, nor can I,” Joel said when he got up from the bench, gazing at the candy in Jimmy’s hand. “He was right, and I'm glad you can see it now, Jimmy.”
Jimmy turned his attention to the man who was leaving and spoke hesitantly, “...Wait.”
Joel came to an immediate stop.
Jimmy struggled to find the right words to say. Joel remained silent.
“You can't just compensate for what you did like that.” Jimmy finally uttered, clenching the candy in his hand. “You need to say you’re sorry; you need to repay what you have done—”
“I’m doing it,” Joel said without looking back. “They’ll be thrilled to catch one alive.”
Jimmy let go of his hand.
He stared at the shiny plastic packaging in his palm, then closed his eyes tightly, silently cursing himself.
After some time, he chose to open his eyes and said, “So you do know his name.”
No response.
“…Where did you find it?”
Jimmy asked, trying to sound a bit lighthearted.
“Did you manage to get him drunk? That must have been quite an easy task…”
Joel seemed hesitant for a moment before he finally said, “He didn’t tell me.”
“Of course he didn't. He’s tougher to crack than that bank safe.” Jimmy laughed, shoving the candy into his pocket. “Then what did you do? Did you check his driving license while he was asleep?”
“Do I look like a bloody stealer?” Joel turned back to him. “How low can you think of me—”
“Oh, I get it now.” Jimmy tapped his chin. “He left you a letter with his complete name on it.”
Joel remained silent for a moment, then he made a confused noise.
“…What?”
“It's because you let him touch your heart, isn't it?” Jimmy continued. “That was so romantic.”
Joel flinched slightly and said, “Stop making shit up!”
“Romantic! Very romantic!” Jimmy said with a clap of his hands and a grin. “Did he draw a heart with an arrow on it?”
“I—” Joel ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. “I’m going to kill you…”
“So, are you going to tell me the truth or not?” Jimmy assessed him, arms crossed. “If not, I’ll provide a ve—ry detailed description of the letter he left you.”
“Just...shut the hell up!” Joel returned to the bench, taking a seat beside him. He sighed loudly, “I heard it on the news.”
“What news?”
“It's the family that stupid violin belonged to.” Joel grumbled, staring at his hands clenching together on his knees. “The House of Wardlow.”
“Oh,” Jimmy blinked, “he cut it off right before it got to that part.”
“Of course he did.” Joel shrugged.
“And his year of birth?”
“On that gravestone,” Joel said, still keeping his eyes down. “I had a gut feeling.”
“So you did pay him attention,” said Jimmy, nodding. Before Joel could come up with another pointless denial, he continued, “That sounds pretty gay to me.”
“Wha—I literally had a girlfriend!” Joel's jaw dropped. “We even had dinner together! All three of us!”
“I have never met her,” Jimmy said, shaking his head woefully. “I don't know what you are talking about.”
“Jimmy, you knew her! We made you shepherd's pie!”
Jimmy gazed into those wide eyes, still with peculiar pupils, and burst into hearty laughter.
“Yeah,” he turned to the windows and dark clouds outside, “I do. You better keep living till you can come to her in the daylight, you know?”
At first, he received nothing but silence. Then he heard Joel say, “Why should she bother?”
“Why shouldn't she? She's literally your girlfriend!” Jimmy almost shouted. “And she's been searching for you! You saw those posters, didn't you?”
Joel chuckled and shook his head. “I’m better off dead to her and everyone else.”
“Ey! Cheer up. You’re dragging my mood down,” Jimmy said, crossing his arms. “My colleague is in the ICU. I had a terrible day already.”
Joel raised his gaze to the double doors of the unit and spoke quietly, “And why are you trying to stop me?”
Jimmy lowered his arms and nudged the man on the elbow. “She needs to know you have a new boyfriend. I want to see them meet each other and fight over you.”
“Jimmy—” Joel sighed deeply.
“Who do you think would win?” Jimmy nudged him again. “Do you want to place a bet?”
“Probably Lizzie,” Joel mumbled. “You never know what she has up her sleeve. Maybe she suddenly knows how to make a bomb. Who knows?”
“Well, but Grian seemed like he had been murdering people since he was five. I bet he’d win you over.”
“Win me over with what?” Joel chuckled. “With his burnt sausage and popcorn?“
“Lizzie can't cook either; you’re the one who made that pie!”
“Yeah, and she gave me affirmative words.” Joel hugged his arms and said quietly, “So we made it together. Stop saying I made it.”
“What—you said the same thing about her garden! You built that by yourself and told everyone that you two made it together!”
“She’s a busy architect; you can't blame her,” Joel muttered. “And she helped with the design.”
“She helped—she just told you what she wanted in her garden and left!”
“Yeah? And I can't complete it without her, can I?
“You’re always like this, Joel!” Jimmy slapped him on the arm, which he accepted without much protest. “You can't be a doormat forever; you need to stand up for yourself!”
“I did,” Joel said, shaking his head slightly. “And look what happened last night.”
Jimmy fell quiet for a moment before breaking into a smile.
“Well then, it’s better to wait for him to wake up and do the talking for you. He seems to be more skilled at it than you, which is something I never thought I'd say.”
“Timmy—”
Before he could finish his sentence, Jimmy pushed him onto the seat and tried to hide him behind his back when he noticed a pair of figures in all-black uniforms approaching the unit doors out of the corner of his eye.
“Where are your sunglasses?” he whispered to the creature struggling behind his back. “Quick! Put them on!”
“What! What’s going on? Tim, get off me!”
“Be quiet! Where are those damn glasses?”
After the cops moved past their bench, he had already pulled the creature up straight, who was adjusting his luxury sunglasses.
The two officers exchanged peculiar glances, appearing more alarmed by Jimmy’s uncanny smile than anything else.
“What’s going on?” Jimmy leaned toward Joel and whispered. “Are they here for Grian? Should we leave? Should we run?”
“No,” said Joel, “I won’t.”
As the police pushed open the door, a nurse walked out and bypassed them. Jimmy immediately stood up and stopped him, “Is Mr. Wardlow alright? Why are there police officers?”
“Are you a friend of Mr. Wardlow?” After receiving an eager nod, the nurse looked concerned and glanced back at the double doors. “I think you’re lying, mate. Or that—that Mr. Wardlow is lying to you.”
“What? What do you mean by that?”
“Grian Wardlow is dead,” said the nurse, “no, not this—this Grian Wardlow. The real Mr. Wardlow was died in—”
“1971.”
“…1971.”
The nurse turned to Joel after he completed the year of death for him.
“Just as I thought,” Joel said, crossing his legs and letting out an apathetic chuckle. “And where is his family?”
“That’s the police’s business.”
“But why did you call them?” He raised a hand to remove his sunglasses again, swirling them with his fingertip. “He can’t answer any questions.”
“He can. He woke up, but he might slip back into a coma at any moment.” The nurse appeared somewhat uneasy about Joel. He spoke hastily, “That’s why we called the police as soon as possible, but I think the bobbies are more interested in finding his attacker.”
“Huh. Isn't that right?” Joel snapped the sunglasses closed. After the nurse rushed out of his sight without much of a goodbye, Jimmy said to Joel, “Let’s just leave, shall we?”
“Go ahead, then.”
“Joel, please—”
“I’m staying.” Joel cut him off.
“Come on…” Jimmy sat down beside him once more, disheartened. “I know you don't want to go to the police like this…”
“Didn’t you say I need to repay him?” Joel shoved the sunglasses back into the pocket of his trench coat. “Let’s see how he speaks for himself.”
As they sat in silence, Jimmy kept glancing at his watch. Joel hadn’t said a word since then; he was only staring at the doors with his legs crossed. The next thing that caught Jimmy’s attention wasn’t the police, but a random guy wearing a heavy, smoky green jacket with a hood lined in faux fur. He also had on a pair of dark brown cargo pants.
Overall, he looked like a tree.
He kept glancing around the hallway, acting very dodgy to say the least, and clearly trying to avoid attracting the staff’s attention when he approached the double doors to the ICU. Once he reached the doors, he removed his hood, revealing his bright blonde hair, which was slightly messy and held back with a black bandana.
“Wait, what are you doing?”
Jimmy spoke up just as the man was about to push the doors open.
“Ahh!” he shrieked, turning sharply to the pair. “Jesus, you scared the living shit out of me!”
“Are you trying to sneak in? This is the ICU!” Jimmy exclaimed in disbelief. “You need to sign your name at the nurse's station!”
“I’d rather not,” said the man, glancing at the pair on the bench. “Wait, are you two looking for… I don't know, someone named Grian Wardlow?”
“You know him?” Joel spoke.
The man, on the other hand, took a few strides forward and—
Placed a hand on Joel’s forehead to lift his hair, then began examining his face with inappropriate intimacy.
“Whoa!” The man kept nudging Joel’s head around, examining his pupils. “That’s why this hospital stinks!”
As soon as Joel raised his hand and was about to shove him away, he had already jumped back and laughed.
“Chill, mate,” the man said, dusting off his hands as if he had just touched something unclean. “I just haven't seen one alive for a while. What a gem Grian found for himself! I'm actually a bit jealous. Why can’t I find some cool toys to play with?”
Upon noticing the clenched fist and the raging glare from the creature, the man quickly let out another laugh.
“What’s your name, little creature?” The man bent down to Joel and cooed, “Do you still use your human name, or has Grian given you a new one?”
“Ey!” Jimmy interrupted the two while they were having a staring contest. “What’s your issue? How dare you speak to him like that!”
“And you?” The man turned his head toward Jimmy. Before a hand could grip the man’s collar, he quickly pulled something toward the creature’s chest. “Don't bother me, little thing. I'm talking to a human.”
It was a stun gun. The electric flare flickered just inches from Joel's shirt.
“I—I—” Jimmy glanced nervously between the two before finally saying, “I’m… Jimmy…”
“Jimmy! It’s nice to meet you!” The man raised his other hand toward Jimmy, who took it after a gulp. “You can call me Martyn. I’m... Let’s say, a peer of Grian.”
“A…peer?”
“Uh-huh. I kill people for a living. Well, sort of.” Martyn shrugged while holding the stun gun, causing Joel to flinch. He tilted his head toward the double doors and then put the stun gun back in his pocket. “I’m here to visit Grian. Mainly to laugh in his face and probably take a picture for auction.” He briefly pulled out a small camera from another pocket.
They were ignoring him, however. Jimmy quickly turned his attention to Joel, who looked down at his shirt.
“Joel, are you alright?”
“It's nothing. It didn't touch me,” Joel muttered quickly under his breath.
“Oh, so that’s your name,” Martyn said when he took the seat beside Joel, leaning toward him. “Why is Grian in there? He’s pretty much considered unkillable in my world. What a surprise when I heard that Grian Wardlow is in the damn hospital, fighting for his life.”
“How do you know he's here?” Jimmy raised an eyebrow. “The hospital didn't even know his name a—”
“A couple of hours ago. Yes.” Martyn nodded with a smile. “I received my memo from the Yard. You see, I was—what’s the silly name they call themselves nowadays? Humane—Humane something? Anyway, I was what they called a hunter.”
Jimmy stared at the smiley face for a while. Martyn shrugged, while Joel remained still in the middle, showing little reaction.
“You-you-you-you are a hunter?!” said Jimmy, with his eyes wide.
“Yeah,” Martyn said as he leaned back in his seat and put an arm around Joel’s shoulder, who shot him murderous glances in return. “Save your energy, little creature,” he said, giving Joel a playful shake. “I’m not one of them anymore, but I sure know how to kill you. You see, before they got those new weapons from the Americans, we had to get creative. Stun guns, tranquilizers, shotguns, and a lot, lot of explosives… And nowadays, it’s just—Boom!”
He gave Joel a firm pat on the shoulder.
“Ah, the good old times.”
Joel remained silent and pushed the hand away.
“A quiet one, huh?” Martyn ruffled Joel's hair. “And a strong one.”
“Shut up,” Joel mumbled, “and stop messing with my hair.”
“Alright.” Martyn started pinching his cheek and forced his face toward himself, gazing at him with a peculiar expression. “Stop me then, little thing. Kill me in the public and you’ll never get to see your sorry owner ever again.”
“He’s not my owner,” Joel said, nudging the hand away. “He doesn’t—”
“Then why are you here, watching over him like a sad little puppy?”
“…Shut up.”
“Did he feed you?” Martyn leaned closer. “Did he let you have it whole or give it to you little by little as treats? Do you enjoy tearing them apart? Does it make you feel good about yourself?”
Joel stood up from his seat, grabbed Martyn’s jacket, and lifted him up. “I said shut the hell up!”
Martyn chuckled and looked at the nearby staff who were casting worried glances at them. “I’m fine. It’s just, you know…” He raised a finger to his temple, swirled it in the air, and clicked his tongue. Then, he addressed the man who was still holding onto him. “Put me down, Joel. You know you can’t do this here if you can still think like a human.”
After a long silence, Joel slowly lowered his trembling fist and pushed Martyn back into the seat.
“Ouch—” Martyn wailed, moving his shoulders. “Poor Grian, stuck with a nutty one with a terrible anger issue. And I thought you things couldn’t get any worse!”
“…What do you want from me?”
“Nothing! Absolutely nothing.” Martyn lowered his arms and grinned. “Like I said, I just haven’t seen you creatures in a while, and I got a little too excited.” He raised a hand into the air, then let it drop to his lap, shaking his head. “Ugh, I should just keep one for myself while I still have the chance.”
“Leave me alone,” Joel said.
“I’m not going to,” Martyn said with an even wider grin. “Are you hungry? Is that why you’re so grumpy? Sorry, I didn’t come prepared with a treat for you. Well, I guess since we’re already at the hospital with a bunch of dying people around us,” he laughed, “God, do I want to see you munching onto something.”
Joel, on the other hand, seemed to decide to stop engaging with this person and took a seat next to Jimmy this time. He returned his attention to the doors.
“Is it always like this?” Martyn whispered to Jimmy, who gave him a noncommittal hum. “Who are you to it, anyway?”
“I...” Jimmy glanced at Joel, who was still pretending Martyn didn't exist. “I don’t know. I’m just here.”
“And why is it dressed like that?” Martyn pointed a finger at his black outfit, still being ignored. “Let me guess. It thinks it looks cool because it’s now a half-vampire. Typical. Very typical.”
“Oh my gosh,” Jimmy rubbed his cheeks. “Just shut up. What’s wrong with you, Martyn?”
Martyn just laughed it off again while something else caught Jimmy’s attention. The double door was being pushed open. The officers stepped out, both looking solemn as they entered. One noticed the three on the bench and approached them, which alarmed Jimmy and made him stand up.
“Uh, how may we assist you?” he asked politely, trying to shield Joel from her.
“Are you a friend of the victim?” After a nod, she continued, “Did you see a man wearing a skull mask last night?”
“He’s—he’s—” Jimmy blinked quickly. “What?”
“The victim said that was his attacker.”
“N-no, I haven't. Can I see him now?” Jimmy peeked over the officer’s shoulder toward the doors.
“I’m afraid not.” said the officer. “He’s back in a coma.”
After the police finished their questioning, Jimmy returned to the two and saw that Martyn had taken his previous seat, pinching Joel’s cheek again.
“Oh, so you're the one who put him in the hospital. I understand now,” Martyn said sweetly, while Joel remained silent, arms crossed and eyes fixed on the ground. “Poor little thing. Look how sad you are. Aw, I almost feel sorry for you.”
Joel didn't even bother to push his hand away this time.
“He really doesn't know how to handle you creatures, does he?” Martyn said, finally lowering his hand when he received no response and grew bored. “Is he really nice to you? He certainly seems that way, or why do you look so sad?”
“Martyn, leave him alone!” Jimmy grunted while he dragged the annoying man away from Joel.
“Ow, my shoulders still hurt!” Martyn complained. “Your cat just scratched me! Is this how you treat a victim?”
“Just go somewhere else!” Jimmy pulled him up from the bench, which led to more complaints. “And stop trying to sneak into the ICU! Grian needs some rest.”
“Alright—alright—” Martyn said, rolling his eyes and shoving his hands into his pockets. “Have fun. And—” he said, addressing Joel specifically with a wink, “I’m sure we’ll see each other again, Joel.”
Joel didn't say goodbye to him.
On their way back to the base, still riding the tube, Joel finally spoke after staring at his hands in his lap for a long time.
“Grian… Or whatever his true name is. He’s right.”
“Huh?” Jimmy said, turning to him in surprise.
“I was lucky that he found me first.”
Joel looked ahead, staring blankly into space.
“I was never part of that world, Jimmy. I was just a bloody florist.”
Jimmy gently nudged him, prompting him to shift his gaze toward Jimmy.
“And you were a good florist.”
Joel laughed to himself self-deprecatingly.
“How about a monster?”
“That's not a job,” Jimmy said, giving him a sidelong glance. “But yes, I’d say so.”
Joel averted his gaze and looked down.
“You know,” Jimmy said, “you should put your sunglasses back on if you feel uncomfortable.”
“I don't feel uncomfortable.” Joel mumbled. “I feel self-conscious.”
“Joel,” Jimmy weakly slapped his forehead, “Just put them back on. Grian won't mind, I promise.”
Joel didn't move. “Why won’t he?”
“Literally the first thing he thought of when he woke up from a coma,” Jimmy lowered his hand, “was to lie for you. And stop pretending you two never knew each other well. It’s getting old.”
As Joel remained unresponsive, Jimmy's patience began to wear thin. He rummaged through Joel’s coat pockets and pushed the sunglasses onto Joel’s face, prompting some complaints that he chose to ignore.
“See?” Jimmy sank back into his seat and glanced at their reflections in the opposite window. “Now you feel better.”
“I don't.” Joel didn't remove it. “Now everything is darker.”
He had a deep and restful sleep on the loveseat, managing to stay on it most of the night. Fortunately, he didn't have many dreams after two long, exhausting days. Later that night, it began to rain heavily, and he found the sound quite soothing.
It was interrupted early in the morning when the rolling door slammed up, revealing a figure against the rainy fog.
He lifted his head from the armrest and glanced at the figure. It was Joel, drenched from head to toe, his sunglasses covered in water droplets.
“What happened?”
Jimmy quickly sat up on the loveseat.
"Someone took him," Joel murmured, short of breath.
“…What?!”
Jimmy jumped out.
Joel turned toward his Yamaha parked outside, with the engine still running and the headlight shining through the rain.
“Someone took Grian from the hospital.”
Notes:
Five of them now.
Artwork by @mi3-14 (a lot of Camden):
https://www.tumblr.com/mi3-14/779422164638121984/arts-for-urban-appetite-theres-spoilers-and
Chapter 9: The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly
Notes:
TW for this chapter: reference/description of suicidal inclination.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
He had been waiting at the designated meeting spot for quite some time. The person who had agreed to meet him, after much tedious persuasion over the phone, had yet to arrive. He looked out at the street from the patio of a coffee shop, which seemed gray and dull, with light raindrops falling. He hoped the weather wouldn’t pose a problem for the fireworks show and bonfire planned for tonight in silence.
He suddenly remembered something and searched through the numerous pockets he had modified in his jacket. In a rush, he pulled out a pair of black sunglasses and squinted at the gold logos on their legs in disbelief.
Cartier? Seriously?
He put on the dark lenses and surveyed his surroundings. Everything appeared dull and even grayer, which he strongly disliked. The green canvas roof over the outdoor tables of the modest coffee shop, the old building of the former Scotland Yard, and Trafalgar Square at the end of the street all felt more unpleasant to endure than ever.
However, he decided he would make do, knowing he wouldn’t have them on for long.
As he scanned the dismal street view and the people passing by, he noticed a familiar figure approaching the patio, looking as disgruntled as ever.
“Hey! S—Jesus!” He stood up from the chair, almost knocking over the small outdoor table in the process, which he quickly stabilized.
The man barely greeted him, merely glancing apathetically through his orange sunglasses. He stood there with his arms crossed, still carrying a tall velvet case on his back.
“I like your shirt,” he said, pointing at the man's black shirt adorned with white outlines of palm leaves. “I heard you had a dramatic change in style since returning from Hawaii. You even dyed your hair! Wow, who would have thought?”
The man remained silent.
“Oh, come on, Scottie,” he said, leaning back in the chair and resting his arm on the table. “Is this how you treat your old mentor?”
“I underestimated how low you could go,” Scott said, throwing his case against the table edge, creating a muffled thump. “Give me a reason not to kill you right here and now, dear Martyn.”
“Great sense of smell, as always.” He then looked at the frown on Scott's face through the dark lenses. “I know you have questions. Go ahead and ask me.”
“I have none.” Scott took the chair opposite him, shifting his focus to the old Yard. “Isn't it a bit bold for a creature to appear in a place like this?”
“I know this city like the back of my hand. A simple hotel doesn't worry me much,” said Martyn, leaning toward him with a smile. “How’s the travel from 10 Broadway?”
“I wasn't in Westminster. I was in Camden.”
“What are you doing? Are you still going after that clue? How is that going for you?”
Scott glanced at him. “That information is confidential. You aren’t a copper anymore.”
Martyn laughed and asked, “Did you find the victim yet?”
No response.
“How did you manage to lose him in the first place?” He laughed harder. “He’s in the ICU!”
“…What do you want, Martyn?” Scott muttered to himself. “Do you want me to come and end your pointless suffering?”
“Oh, come on,” Martyn said, tapping his fingers on the table. “I’ve just been turned. Let me enjoy my new afterlife a little longer.” Noticing Scott’s quick glance, he added, “I know you care about what happened to me, so please feel free to ask. Oh, right, forgive me for not asking earlier. Would you like a cup of tea, dear Scottie?”
“No,” Scott replied, turning his face away, “I lost all my expectations of you a long time ago.”
“Well, that’s much better,” Martyn said with a hearty laugh. “Just go ahead and kill—”
Before he could finish his sentence, a muzzle—almost as wide as a fist—was aimed at his forehead. The velvet case had been opened and emptied. The surrounding customers and waiters on the patio gasped, scattering plates and cups.
“Still the same model student, dear little Scottie,” Martyn said with a smile, raising his hands in the air. “The fastest, the smartest, at the top of your class. Always nice to everyone around you and never misses a single shot. But do you know what they call you behind your back?” He lowered his hands back to his lap. Sweat beads formed on Scott's forehead, but his hands remained steady on his rifle. “Pretentious? Annoying? A weirdo? No, they call you a monster.”
Scott remained silent and held the rifle tightly, still aiming at the head of his former mentor.
Martyn, however, searched his pockets one more time and placed a modified walkie-talkie on the table. The device was held together with tape and had a timer attached to it. Scott glanced briefly at the walkie-talkie before turning his attention back to Martyn.
“Go ahead and kill me,” Martyn sighed and said, “or you could also try to find a cute little trinket I hid somewhere on the street. Ow,” he added, lifting the walkie-talkie to check the time. “There's only 43 seconds left. Aw, now it’s down to 41.”
The muzzle remained aimed at him, unmoving. Martyn let out a chuckle.
“Which one would you choose, dear Scottie?” Martyn nudged the muzzle away from his forehead. “To save the living or to kill the dead? Which option will make you feel—”
The muzzle was quickly lowered as its owner stood up from the chair and strode into the rainy street, pulling a silver whistle from the chest pocket of his Hawaiian shirt.
“Evacuate! Evacuate this area immediately! This is the Metropolitan Police!”
“—Less like a monster?”
Martyn let out a muffled laugh after finishing his sentence, which now was directed at no one. He stood up from the coffee table, removed the sunglasses that didn’t belong to him, and stuffed them into one of his pockets in exchange for another object. It was wrapped in parchment paper, with a small amount of blood seeping through. It felt soft to the touch and even a little squishy. He tossed it gently into the air.
As a scent lure, it proved to be remarkably effective. Who would have guessed?
He turned to the police officer, who was busy trying to control the panicking crowd. He yelled, “I’ll be waiting for you at Battersea Power Station tonight! You better come see me! Did you hear me, Scottie?”
Scott didn’t respond, but Martyn knew that he had been heard.
He smiled and walked to the other end of the street. A moment later, the old Yard was engulfed in smoke, flames, and a loud explosion.
It didn't take long for the two acquaintances of that Wardlow to show up in the hallway leading to the ICU in the morning. Before they rushed headlong into the group of officers by the double doors like the idiots they were, he quickly stepped out and grabbed the human's arm.
“Hey, Jimmy!” he said with a welcoming smile, only to receive a terrified glance from the young man, drenched from head to toe just like the creature beside him. “What brought you—”
A hand shoved him against the wall before he could finish. He wasn't panicking, as that hand was far from using all of its owner's strength.
“Good Lord,” he gasped for air against the wall and coughed a few times. “We’re at a hospital! What do you think you’re doing, Joel?”
“Where did you take him?” Joel asked, grabbing his jacket. Its voice was oddly calm.
“Ugh, can you stop being so obsessed with your owner all the time?” Martyn rolled his eyes. “He’s safe, I promise. Who do I look like? A baddie?”
No response, only a fierce glare that he ignored while the force gripping his jacket intensified.
“Where did you take him, Martyn?”
Joel repeated the question in an eerily calm voice. Rainwater dripped from its hair strands, but it didn’t bother to wipe them away.
“Alright, wait before you point your fingers at me,” Martyn laughed. “I’m just as shocked as you are.”
“You-you didn’t take him?” Jimmy asked from behind Joel, grabbing the creature’s shoulder. “Then who—”
“No, I did,” Martyn laughed again. “I just want to lie.”
He readjusted the heavy bag of ANFO in his arms as he walked through one of the turbine halls of the power station. Looking up, he noticed that the steel trusses covered most of the glass roof, but some moonlight managed to shine through, illuminating the dark, deteriorating hall. Then he heard a voice coming from a man standing next to a load-bearing column, the one that was supposed to be the creature’s responsibility. He frowned, adjusted the heavy bag of explosives again, and moved toward the column. With only three days left until Guy Fawkes Night, he had big plans in mind. There was no time to waste.
“Yes, I'm telling you they are the government's creation,” said an older guard, who should have been on duty watching over this long-abandoned establishment but was clearly drunk. “The Tory Party made a deal with the devil and-and opened a gate to hell!”
The creature, which was supposed to be setting up the explosives in this part of the hall, was now leaning against the column, holding its armed cross while a wooden box full of dynamite lay on the floor. “Right,” it chuckled nonchalantly. “Tell me more about it.”
“They are an experiment created by the Soviets…” The guard stumbled and grasped Joel’s shoulders for support. “They aim to dismantle the monarchy…”
“Didn’t you say they came from hell a moment ago?” Joel lent him its arms, shaking its head.
“They eat babies…”
"Do they?" it chortled once more.
“And I don’t trust that they were turned. They were never human in the first place…”
“They were,” Martyn decided to put a stop to this nonsense and called out, “They are just dead—walking cadavers that resemble their past selves. That’s it.”
Joel remained silent and did not acknowledge Martyn, still allowing the old man to hold onto its arms and shoulders for support.
“What are you waiting for, little thing?” Martyn dropped the explosives to the floor and reached out a hand to ruffle Joel’s hair, which Joel accepted without much of a reaction. “Just give him a whack. Tear him apart. You like it, don't you?”
“I’m not hungry,” Joel said, offering its hands to the drunk man as he stumbled once more. “Watch out, you—”
A muffled sound interrupted Joel. The old man, with a dart in his arm, took a few steps back and fell to the ground without much of a noise.
Martyn raised the tranquilizer gun and blew on the muzzle, even though there was no smoke. “Finish him off,” he ordered the creature dispassionately, but it gave him no response and continued to gaze at the fallen man. “I said finish him off, Joel.”
“I said I'm not—”
“I don't like how you talk to him like a human,” Martyn said, tapping the muzzle against his shoulder. “It’s too uncanny for my liking. Now, show me how your kind would actually behave.”
It stood motionless. When Martyn saw the creature's fists clenched at its sides, he burst into laughter.
“Do you still want to see your young Master Wardlow or not?”
After a few seconds, the creature's fist loosened. Joel dropped to the ground and raised a hand toward the guard's chest.
Crunchy noises ensued, he watched the creature in the darkness tear open the rib cage of the fallen man, clutching a heart that gradually stopped beating in its hand.
“Take a bite,” Martyn ordered, “and eat it for me like you would an apple.”
When he finally arrived in the East End, the journey on the tube felt like it took forever. The paper bag under his arm was no longer warm, but he hoped it wouldn’t matter much. As he strolled past the brick buildings along this unassuming street in Canary Wharf, a wide grin spread across his face when he walked by a small storage unit with a silver rolling door tightly closed. Tire markings from motorbikes were visible on the ground in front of it. He raised his hand and knocked on the door, calling out, “Jimmy?”
“Who’s there?” he heard a muffled voice filled with panic coming from behind the door.
He laughed, lifting the heavy door.
“It’s me! Your friendly Martyn!”
The young man stood by a sink next to a messy table against the wall, which appeared to be a makeshift kitchen. He was wearing latex gloves and was busily scrubbing away at the stains. Jimmy dropped the sponge into the sink and widened his eyes in surprise.
“How—how did you find—”
“Oh, come on,” Martyn said, releasing the rolling door. “I did my stalking, of course. Who do you think I am?” He noticed a small, old sofa in the middle of the room, not far from a decent television, and decided to sit on it. He then tossed the bag of takeaway to Jimmy, who caught it in his cleaning gloves. “Here. Have some tempura. I brought it all the way from North London.”
Jimmy opened the paper bag cautiously for a brief moment, then quickly closed it and shut his eyes.
Martyn rolled his eyes and said, “It’s not going to bite you.”
This time, Jimmy actually opened it. He appeared genuinely surprised, which made Martyn chuckle.
“Well, well,” Martyn said, resting his hands behind his head. “I’m here to feed you since you don’t seem to feed yourself much. Oh boy, was Grian the only cook in your family?”
Jimmy placed the tempura on the kitchen counter and asked skeptically, "Why are you being so kind?”
“Because I don't want to upset Joel,” Martyn said with a nod, “I don't want you to starve to death and make it hate me a little bit more. I also want to find someone to talk to. You see, Joel just sat there and listened to my grand plan for tomorrow night without saying anything in response. I’m fifty percent sure it fell asleep in the middle of it. It's really hard to tell with those sunglasses on—”
“Martyn!” Jimmy lifted his leg off half of the sofa and took a seat, still wearing his cleaning gloves. “Just tell me what you want! And leave before Joel—”
“It’s not coming back, I’m afraid. At least not today,” Martyn said, scratching his hair. “Its spine is broken. Anyway—”
“YOU WHAT?!”
A hand clad in a latex glove seized his jacket and shook him violently.
“Martyn, you did what you son of a—”
“It can't feel pain anyway!” Martyn raised his hands in the air. “And it did it on its own! That’s not even my fault!”
Jimmy squinted his eyes shut and lowered his hand. He sighed, “I don’t buy it.”
“Come on, Jimmy. It’s doing fine; it just has a scattered spine.” Martyn wiped the soap bubbles that Jimmy had left on his jacket. “I’m pretty sure that when I go back, it will mostly be recovered, but it’s low on food. I checked its stomach when it passed out, and it seemed empty—”
“YOU WHAT?!”
Another shout came from the young man, and it began to hurt Martyn’s eardrums.
“It’s already out there because of the explosion, alright?!” Martyn protested. “I’m just trying to take care of my creature! Can you let me finish or not?”
“I—” Jimmy hesitated before taking a deep breath. “Please, just continue…”
“We need to find some food for Joel to help it recover faster,” Martyn said with a nod. He then pointed towards the fridge by the makeshift kitchen. “How about the fridge? Do you people have any extra meals?”
“We usually do, but…” Jimmy turned to the fridge as well. “Grian is… you know. So we weren't high on storage. How-how much does he need?”
Martyn paused to think for a moment before responding, “As much as possible.”
He tried to pick up a piece of sushi from his takeaway box using chopsticks. It kept slipping away, prompting him to grunt in frustration before tossing the chopsticks aside. Instead, he decided to use his hand to grab it, but now it vaguely tasted like the gunpowder that had gotten on his fingers.
He and the creature beside him were sitting at the edge of a deck overlooking the Thames, with a rusty red power station behind them. The sun was setting on this clear afternoon, following a long day spent preparing explosives around the power station for the show planned for the night after tomorrow. He gazed at the city view across the river and reached for another piece of sushi.
“How much dynamite do we have left?” Martyn asked, tapping the creature that was gazing at its reflection on the water's surface. “Do I need to get more?”
Joel held its knee against its chest. It kept gazing at the water below, saying, “I don't care.”
“Hey, cheer up!” Martyn patted it on the shoulder. “You’ll get him back. I made a promise, and I intend to keep it. You don’t break a promise made in a hospital.”
Joel remained silent. A cold wind swept through the river, tousling their hair.
“You really care for him, huh?” Martyn took a bite of his sushi, which still tasted like gunpowder. “And that Jimmy. You even tried to comfort him when he, you know, broke down. Although I have to say, it wasn’t exactly a great job.”
“It’s the least I can do,” Joel murmured.
“Oh, come on,” Martyn lay on the deck, tossing the takeaway box aside and watching the sky, now tinted a golden hue. “Are you always this gloomy? You’re no fun as a creature.”
“And you are a piece of shit as a human.”
Martyn started laughing. “I am! Everyone has told me the same thing!”
“Does it never bother you?” Joel asked, raising its head toward the sky as well.
“Eh, not really,” Martyn sat up again. “That’s how I want to live my life. When I die, people will cheer and spit on my grave, but they can never truly forgive me. It almost feels like I’m immortal,” he said, placing an arm on the creature’s shoulder. “You know, like you?”
Joel stole a quick glance at him through its sunglasses but didn't say anything.
“Where's your dinner?” asked Martyn, reaching for another piece of sushi. “Where's the rest of him?”
Joel raised a finger from its knee and pointed toward the river.
“What—you can't just treat someone’s body like that!” Martyn exclaimed. “That’s illegal! You’re lucky I’m not a copper anymore.”
Joel shrugged with a faint smile, seeming a bit proud of its little trick that successfully upset Martyn.
“Oh, you...” Martyn returned to his sushi, feeling disgruntled. “Alright, starve yourself if you wish, then.”
After a moment of tranquility, Joel glanced at the chopsticks in Martyn’s takeaway box.
“You don’t know how to use chopsticks?"
“I don't. I never figured out how,” Martyn said. He leaned against the creature’s side as he prepared to eat his sushi. Grabbing one of the chopsticks, he stuck it into a piece of sushi and raised it to his eyes. “I was never good with delicate tools, you see—”
“…Give me those.” Joel shoved him away and grabbed the chopsticks from Martyn’s box and hand. It held them in its fingers and raised them to his face.
“You’re getting on my nerves. Just use them like this; it’s easy.” Joel quickly clicked the tips together in front of Martyn’s face, then tossed them back into his takeaway box. “See? You bloody idiot.”
Martyn stared at the chopsticks in his box for a moment, tilting his head. The creature then stood up from the deck and stormed toward the power plant without speaking another word.
“After we played some cards, the guy on my right tried to punch me because he thought I was cheating.” Martyn gestured toward half a thigh, its bone exposed, barely tucked under a white sheet on his wheelbarrow. “Well, I was cheating, but that's not the point. I asked him who his boss was, and he pointed to the man in the middle. I mentioned that I knew his boss's boss, someone I had worked with a while back, and I helped her blew up her ex-lover into sixty-six pieces before he tried to escape to the Caribbean—”
“…Martyn,” the young man said, his face growing paler with each passing moment. He halted in his tracks and added, “Did anyone ever tell you that you talk way too much?”
“Yeah?” Martyn paused, stopping alongside the wheelbarrow he had been pushing. “And I cut their tongues out.”
Jimmy pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head.
“What?” Martyn started pushing the wheelbarrow again, causing the exposed thigh to wiggle a little. It certainly looked very chewable.
“I just…really miss Grian, you know? I miss his privacy.” Jimmy followed him along, then added, “And why are we just walking on the street in broad daylight?”
“Because—Excuse me!” Martyn shouted to the group of elderly people gathered at the bus stop. They were chatting excitedly among themselves and occupying every inch of the sidewalk. “Sorry, sorry, please let us pass,” he muttered as he carefully maneuvered the wheelbarrow through the crowd. The red stains and exposed body parts definitely caught their attention. “It’s for a film set! Don’t worry!”
“I can’t believe they just let us pass like that!” Jimmy exclaimed, looking back at the group of elderly people now getting on a double-decker bus.
“People are just way too polite,” Martyn laughed. He was then drawn to the department stores located across the street. “That's why I love this city. Wait a second…” He released the handles and poked Jimmy’s shoulder. “Do you know what sizes Joel wears?”
“What? Clothes?” After receiving a nod from the guy still yearning for the department store, Jimmy continued, “How would I know?”
“Make an educated guess, then.”
“I don’t know. A size 14?”
“14?” Martyn shot the young man a disapproving glance. “A 12 at most. Alright, keep an eye on the wheelbarrow for me.”
“Wait! Martyn!” Jimmy shouted toward him as he walked straight into the busy traffic, causing a commotion in the center of the street. “Where are you going? Are you just going to leave me here?!”
“I’m buying Joel some new shirts! Jesus—" Martyn waved at him, narrowly avoiding an incoming taxi. "You don't want to see its bare stomach, do you? Well, I guess not the stomach exactly. Oh, and what’s your size?”
“What are you really trying to achieve, Martyn?”
Joel passed one of their last sticks of dynamite to Martyn, who was taping them one by one around a column in the other turbine hall. The moon hovered above the glass ceiling windows once more.
“You can't blow this place up like that. You don't have enough explosives.”
“Yeah, I know,” said Martyn, taking over the dynamite without giving the creature a glance. “I said I'm going to prepare a firework for a special someone on Guy Fawkes Night. I wasn't lying.”
“Your… girlfriend?” Joel asked, reaching for another stick of dynamite. Only two remained.
“No, he’s a man.” Once Martyn turned to the creature for the next stick, he noticed some raised eyebrows. “What? You got a problem with that?”
Joel immediately shook its head from side to side slowly, while keeping its lips tightly pressed together.
“I've known him since he was quite young. He always hated this power station, calling it a colorless eyesore,” Martyn continued, slapping the dynamite onto the column and tearing off a piece of tape with his teeth. “ He wash— He was in this mentee program when he was still at the Policing College. They told me this kid was a bit anti-social and had failed the Hare Test—you know, that psychopathy assessment. But he was too smart and competent for the Yard to let him slip away. I told them it didn't matter. I didn't pass it either.”
“…Yeah,” he heard Joel mutter, “who would have thought?”
“Oh, come on! There isn’t a single person in this world who could pass that ridiculous test!” Martyn complained. “They said he might be easier to handle if someone look after him since he won’t talk to anyone unless someone speaks to him. And you definitely don't want that in a copper. Well, I suppose he’s just like you.”
Joel remained silent. Martyn stopped his laughter and gave a shrug before continuing.
“He eventually learned to open up, but mainly because he hated me to the bone, just like everyone else.” Martyn pressed the tape against the column and then bent down to untangle the fuses on the ground. “I often say he adopted my demeanor because I was his first... friend, I guess, but he will choke you if you dare to mention it. He may seem nice and charismatic on the surface, just like me—”
“…What?”
“But deep down, he's still a shy, antisocial, and heartless person.” He ignored Joel's chatter and continued. “When he found out that I had left, he spent an entire month searching for me all over Europe just to track me down. It nearly cost him his job and his future. What he didn't realize was that I had been in London the whole time.”
He stood up from the ground, dusted off his hands, and looked at the work he had done with complacency.
“When he finally found me, I thought he was going to kill me. But he didn’t. He raised the pistol, but it wasn’t aimed at me.” He said, placing his hands on his hips. “He pointed the muzzle toward his temple and grabbed my collar, urging me to look at him with tears in his eyes. I told him I had never seen anything so pathetic as he was, and that’s when he left without saying a word.”
The creature clutched the final stick of dynamite tightly. It did not hand the stick to Martyn.
“…Joel?”
Martyn turned to it.
“Why are you telling me this?”
"I’m a very chatty person," Martyn said with a shrug.
“No,” Joel clenched the dynamite in its fist. A smile slowly appeared on its face. “Who do you see, Martyn?”
"A walking cadaver?" Martyn asked while stroking his chin.
Joel responded by raising a hand to remove its sunglasses. It placed them on top of some nearby metal pipes and stepped away from Martyn and the column he was preparing.
“…What are you doing?” Martyn let his hand slip, seeing a flicker of light ignite in the darkness. It was the lighter for Joel’s cigarettes.
Joel lit the last stick of dynamite and held it in its hand. It tossed the lighter aside.
“What the hell are you doing?!” Martyn stepped forward but stopped upon hearing the sizzling sound. He shouted in despair, “Throw it out! Joel! What are you thinking—”
Joel raised the dynamite and opened his palm, allowing it to fall to the floor in front of him.
“Look at me,” Joel said with a smile as the spark raced up the fuse, sizzling along the way. “And think about how much of a failure you are, Martyn.”
“What did Joel do to himself?”
The young man in the front seat asked while Martyn drove a stolen car. Martyn had abandoned the wheelbarrow plan because his arms were getting sore, and Jimmy clearly was not going to help.
“It’s becoming quite suspicious. Why are you remaining so tight-lipped about it, Martyn?”
“What?” Martyn protested, his eyes still on the road while driving cautiously after just speeding through a red light. “Can’t I keep one secret to myself?”
"Yeah, but that’s so unlike you," Jimmy mumbled, crossing his arms.
“Just asked Joel when it gets back, then.”
“Martyn,” Jimmy said in disbelief, “do you really think Joel will tell me anything that happened?”
Martyn burst out laughing, “That’s fair!”
“And you didn't tell us why you need to kidnap Grian or-or why you need Joel—”
“I said I placed him in a safe spot,” Martyn interrupted, “and I need both of you to set up a firework show. I wasn't lying. I don’t make promises like that easily.”
“How did you manage to steal him from the ICU in the first place?!”
“A fake ambulance,” Martyn shrugged. “And just my old police uniform and a couple of extra hands. One of them was the one I gave Joel as a welcoming gift when we made our deal. Do you remember that?”
Jimmy shot him a sideways glance.
“Joel is going to eat you alive once you return our Grian.”
“Oh my, please do! I’m absolutely terrified,” Martyn giggled. “By the way, I got you a new jacket, too. It’s in the plastic bag under one of the heads, I believe.”
“What?! Why do I need a new jacket?”
“All you’ve been wearing is denim anyway.” Martyn looked him up and down before returning his eyes back to the road. “You need some fashion sense like mine for tomorrow night, or you’ll never see your dear Grian again.”
“Joel—”
He shouted into the darkness inside the turbine hall, cupping his hands around his mouth.
“Are you alright?”
His voice echoed loudly in the empty hall.
“Shut up, Martyn.”
The darkness brought back a familiar voice to him.
“Where are you?”
He called again, and this time a twisted piece of scrap metal flew straight toward his face.
“Ahh!”
He crouched down, protecting his head with his arms. The scrap metal was now deeply embedded in the column behind him.
“Looks like you’re doing well,” he said, following the voice with the faint glow of moonlight until he spotted the creature leaning against the railing. There was still a wide, visible wound on his abdomen, but at least there was no exposed stomach or gaping hole. His clothing situation was definitely less than ideal, which made Martyn feel thankful for his purchasing decision. “Can you walk yet?”
Joel shrugged slightly, focusing on a metal piece in his hands as he made adjustments. Scraps of metal were scattered around the ground, indicating that he had grown quite bored during the long recovery period. It seemed like he had started to dismantle the abandoned metal pipes in the area, piece by piece, just to pass the time.
“I told you to throw it away.” Martyn sighed, leaning against the railing beside the creature. “But you just have to—I don't even understand what you think you’re doing, Joel.”
“You know, Martyn,” Joel twisted a thin metal plate in his hands to create a curved shape. “What kind of loser are you today?”
“Ouch, Joel!” Martyn clutched his chest. “I’m trying to be nice to you! I know you’re hungry, so I—”
“Where’s Timmy?” Joel lowered the metal piece in his hand and interrupted him. “You promised me you’d keep an eye on him.”
“I did! I can’t just ignore your dying wish, little thing,” said Martyn with a clap. “I fed him some tempura, and I think he likes it. He’s right outside with your dinner. I did give him a tranquilizer because I know you wouldn’t want him to see you like this—”
“Heh,” Joel raised the metal piece again and made more adjustments. “You’re so kind, Martyn.”
“My pleasure, little thing—”
“What do you want from me this time?” Joel interrupted him again, still focused on his metalwork. “Everything is finished, and you don’t seem to want me dead.”
“Well, that was my original plan,” Martyn said, shoving his hands into his pockets. “You things disgust me. I had planned to keep you alive for a few days to play with, but you’re just no fun.”
“Really?” Joel raised the metal object to his eyes. With the pale moonlight pouring through the glass ceiling, Martyn realized for the first time that it was a flower sculpture of some kind. “What did I do to change your mind, ex-hunter?”
“I don't know. I don't think very rationally, ever.” Martyn glanced at the flower for a moment before shifting his gaze to the blast hole in the concrete floor nearby. “I suppose you’re not very rational either. Look at what you did. Did you know you could have—”
“Yeah?” Joel began reshaping the petals again. “What about it?”
“Are you not afraid?”
“I’ve already died once. I know what my purgatory looks like, and it looked like London.”
It made Martyn laugh for a good while.
“Oh, you. You just want to see me panic, don't you?” Martyn let out a sigh after he finished laughing. “Are you seeking revenge for him?”
“Which him?”
“I have no idea,” said Martyn. “I've upset way too many people in my life.”
Joel shot him a disapproving look and then raised the flower toward the ceiling to inspect it from underneath. "Nah, I wasn't doing it for anyone. I just dislike when people think they’re superior to others.”
“Others?” Martyn shot him a curious glance. “You mean creatures like you?”
“Like that pathetic mentee of yours. Like the rubbish you left in the dustbin.”
Joel handed him the metal flower without looking.
It had a cone-shaped body, delicate petals, and stem. It was almost an exact replica of its real-life counterpart, although it was made entirely of scrap metals.
“I made many of these because I got bored,” Joel muttered when Martyn took it from him. “There’s nothing else I could do while stuck in this bloody power station for a whole day.”
“What is this?” Martyn asked, rotating the thin flower stem between his finger and thumb. “Is this a Devil’s Trumpet?”
“Just like you, Martyn,” Joel said, “a poisonous weed that benefits no one.”
Martyn looked at it for a moment. A grin appeared on his face. He tucked it into one of his inner pockets, saying, “I’ll take it as a compliment.”
“Just tell me what else I should do for you,” Joel crossed his arms, still keeping his eyes fixed ahead, “before your big fireworks show tomorrow.”
Martyn stared at his face without his sunglasses and then said, "Your lung."
“…What?”
Joel gave him a disdainful glance.
“And I’ll keep holding onto your sunglasses for you,” Martyn said, nodding. “Thank you very much.”
“Are you serious?” Joel exclaimed, holding his forehead. “For God’s sake…”
“Just a piece. It’ll help you quit smoking.” Martyn patted him on the shoulder. “And it will grow back anyway; you just need to eat a lot more afterward.”
"You’re asking about my bloody lung! How are you even going to take it—”
“Cut it out?” Martyn searched through his numerous pockets for a knife he was sure he had. “I’ll even give you a shot of tranquilizer!”
“…What are you trying to do, you loser?” Joel muttered once Martyn found his knife. “Give me a reason, like a normal person.”
“I can't let him forget me and move on,” Martyn said with a bright grin. “I have to make a deeper imprint on him, you see?”
The night of November 5th had arrived. He sat on the curb for about an hour before the first fireworks appeared on the horizon. While waiting, he tried to engage his companion in conversation, but his companion didn’t seem very interested in talking.
“You’ll get him back tonight,” he said to the young man, who stared at the tips of his white Reebok trainers while numerous golden fireworks dyed the night sky a bright orange. “Cheer up.”
“…Will I even survive tonight?” muttered his companion, still staring at his shoes.
“Of course.” He patted the young man on the back. “I don't easily make promises like that—oh, look, Jimmy!” He pointed toward a blaze rising into the skyline behind a row of low buildings. “Here’s a bonfire!”
Many people were in front of them on the street, enjoying themselves by lighting fireworks or simply sharing the moment with their loved ones. Some wore white masks with devious grins, which triggered a memory for him. He opened his jacket to search for something and almost cut his fingers on a metal flower, letting out a grunt in surprise.
“Here,” he said, tossing a Guy Fawkes mask toward Jimmy, who blinked quickly as he caught it. “Put it on.”
“…Do I really have to?” Jimmy grumbled, then put it on reluctantly and answered himself. “I know, I know, if I ever want to see our Grian again…”
“That’s the spirit!” He tied the string behind his head as well. “It helps to conceal our identities.”
Jimmy shrugged and turned his attention back to the firework in the orange sky. “Is Joel here?”
“You smell it?” Martyn laughed. “I have something on me with that scent, and I promise you don’t want to know what it is.”
The white mask turned to face him, but Jimmy remained silent.
“I just reminded you about your cook,” Martyn adjusted Jimmy’s mask and ruffled his bright blonde hair, making it messier than usual. “Didn’t I?”
“A little…”
A glimpse of dark shadows immediately caught Martyn's attention from Jimmy. He jumped up, pulling Jimmy with him and forced him to face the shadows as well.
“Wait, are those…”
Jimmy stretched his neck to look at several personnel in black uniforms patrolling among the cheerful people busy lighting fireworks.
It was a team of police officers, who walked through the crowd like an invisible force parting the sea, separating the jubilant throngs of people and the fireworks illuminating the street. Their presence made the atmosphere noticeably quieter, yet the only significant difference between them and ordinary ones, aside from their unusual and solemn aura, was the massive muzzles protruding from their shoulders.
"Yes," said Martyn, his voice slightly trembling, but mostly from excitement.
His eyes were fixed on one particular hunter in the unit. A hunter, dressed in a standard metropolitan police uniform just like the others, featuring a riding coat with blue lining and a custodian helmet adorned with a silvery badge. Every other part of his attire was black, including the Barrett M82 prototype slung on his back, now fully exposed for all curious onlookers to see. He wasn't wearing those bright sunglasses.
Scott seemed to immediately felt as though he was being watched, as he always did. He stopped in the middle of the street, disregarding the questions his colleagues directed at him. Slowly, he turned to face the two individuals wearing white masks standing on the sidewalk.
“Sergeant Major?”
One of the other hunters called out when he approached the pair with a blank expression on his face. A loose strand of his blue hair, which had once been tucked under his helmet, fell across his forehead and eyes, but he didn’t bother to smooth it back.
“Oh, for God’s sake!” another of his colleagues shouted loudly amidst the sounds of fireworks. “What gets into your nutty head this time?”
Scott gave her nothing but a dispassionate glance before advancing toward the pair.
“Alright, I think it’s time for us to leave.” Martyn wasted no time dragging Jimmy toward the power station nearby, now illuminated by fireworks and bonfires, appearing orange instead of rusty red.
The hunter pursued them from behind in silence.
When they arrived at the front of the abandoned power station and squeezed through a gap in the short wire fence, they found a group of teenagers already setting up fireworks in the vacant concrete yard. All of them were wearing masks. The teenagers turned to face the pair who had just stumbled upon their perfect secret spot. He cursed silently and then glanced back at the dark figure approaching them from the street.
“Get out of there!” he shouted, waving toward the group of unruly teenagers. “It’s dangerous!”
The kids all looked at each other and started laughing. One of them even started lighting another firework.
He cursed silently once more. His companion, however, quickly tugged on his jacket sleeve and pointed at the officer across the street, with fireworks blooming around and behind him. The officer's expression remained neutral. He stepped toward them unhurriedly.
“Jesus Christ! They found us!” one of the kids cried when the officer kicked down the shabby wire fence in front of him and stepped over it. “Scatter!”
“No!” shouted his friend, waving at the kid to calm down. “That’s an actual cop! You’re not supposed to do that!”
“Then what should we do now?” another kid asked in a panicked voice, tossing a lit match onto the concrete floor. “I never wanted to be a part of this! I told you it’s illegal!”
“Quiet!” A taller kid shoved them on the shoulder. “You bloody coward! You sold us out, didn't you?”
“No! No! Joanna, I promise I didn't—”
The pair ignored the pointless argument among the teenagers and focused solely on the incoming officer. Scott hadn't spoken a word, only staring intently at the pair, and his grave demeanor clearly frightened the kids.
It didn't help that he was holding a massive rifle in his hands, either.
“Scatter! I said scatter!”
The taller kid yelled again, causing all the teenagers to start running around. They knocked over the fireworks that were lying on the ground, and some of them were still in the process of blooming. Golden flares shot out toward the concrete floor and dispersed everywhere in the vacant yard.
An incoming flare shot toward the pair, prompting his companion to cover his head and run away.
“Wait!” he shouted, extending his hand toward the guy. “Where are you going?”
Before he could finish, he felt a shadow fall over his mask. Scott had raised the rifle towards him and chambered it with a harsh pull, dropping an empty shell onto the concrete floor. The shell bounced briefly before rolling away.
His lips trembled, unable to form a word, and he felt his legs giving way, simply by being the target of that muzzle alone.
“Save your words,” said Scott, with a cold grin beneath his loose strands of hair, “Dear Martyn.”
“Please! No!”
Just before the trigger was pulled, a firework flare shot toward the rifle’s body, creating a bright golden explosion, causing the muzzle to shake slightly.
But then a gunshot still rang out—a deafening shot that silenced the chaotic scene. All eyes turned toward the trembling man who had fallen to the ground, while the copper barely managed to maintain control of the weapon he had just fired, staring in disbelief at the source of the firework that had disrupted his aim. The concrete pavement next to the man’s head now had a deep dent from the gunshot, exposing the dirt several inches beneath it, with smoke rising from the earth's wound.
All previous shouting from the teenagers had gone quiet. Some fell to the floor from the loud gunshot, while others were too stunned to move.
The man's white mask, now discarded to the side, revealed his true face.
“…”
Scott lowered the rifle and shifted his gaze back to the man he had almost killed. The man wore a smoky green jacket and had messy blonde hair. He was now struggling to sit up and rubbed the back of his head, which had just hit the concrete.
Scott’s eyes wide and unblinking.
“…Jimmy?”
He murmured.
“Oh my god!”
The other masked man, standing a dozen yards away from them, lowered his mask as well and shouted toward the pair, with an empty firework under one of his Chelsea boots.
“What did I just witness? Sergeant Major, did you almost shoot a human, a subject of Her Majesty?”
Jimmy turned to Martyn, who had dropped the mask on the concrete floor with a wide grin and kicked the empty firework aside.
“Oh, boy,” Martyn said, stretching his arms as he walked toward Scott. “Isn't that our top hunter at the Yard nearly killing an ordinary citizen?”
“Sergeant Major!”
The unit finally caught up with them in the vacant yard, yelling the name of the hunter who had strayed from the flock. One of them blew a whistle, prompting Scott to turn to them with a frown.
“Explain yourself! You better have a good reason for firing your weapon in front of children!”
“I’m not a child! I'm fourteen!”
“Be quiet, kid! And keep your hands off my rifle! It’s not a toy!”
Scott, however, stiffly returned his gaze to Jimmy on the floor, unable to find the words for some time.
“But I…smelt it…”
“You did?”
Martyn stepped forward, cupped Scott's face in his hands, and pressed their foreheads together.
“Look at me, Scottie! Look at my eyes!”
He shocked Scott with a wide grin. Scott wasn't reacting to it.
“Do I look like a creature to you? Do I?”
Scott attempted to step back from Martyn, but Martyn wouldn't let him.
“Come on, Scottie!” Martyn laughed and shoved him to the center of the vacant yard. “Look around you! Just look!”
Scott turned around as instructed, still holding onto the carrying handle of his Barrett M82.
All the silence, disbelief, horror, and accusation surrounded him under a sky illuminated by millions of fireworks over London.
“Alright, that's enough looking.”
Martyn pinched Scott's chin to force him to turn back. He reached for Scott's custodian helmet, removed it, and tossed it aside, revealing the bright blue hair underneath.
“You know,” Martyn said, messing with Scott’s hair playfully, “I prefer your new style much better, dear Scottie.”
Scott allowed him to proceed without much protest and lowered his rifle. A smile broke onto his once emotionless face.
He started laughing under the orange sky, illuminated by fireworks, and Martyn joined in.
“Thank you,” he said quietly afterward with a weary smile. “Dear Martyn. I like your jacket, too.”
“Wait,” one of the other hunters broke the moment after finally retrieving his rifle from the kids. “Is that bloody Inspector Littlewood—”
“Oh, come on!” Martyn pushed Scott away and exclaimed, “Why are you paying attention to me? It’s not my moment!”
“No! Stop right there!” Another officer took her Barrett rifle from her back and began to chamber it, shouting at the top of her lungs, “Martyn! You son of a bitch!”
They all began sprinting towards Martyn, prompting him to retrieve something from his jacket pocket.
“Alright, you’re making me do this.” Martyn glanced at the modified walkie-talkie in his hand, pressed an unmarked button, and immediately began running toward the wire fences, throwing it into the sky.
Scott looked down at the blinking walkie-talkie that fell to the ground beside Jimmy. Jimmy glanced at it too, then noticed Martyn squeezing through the same gap they had come from. Martyn ran toward a figure waiting on the street to hand him something before he sprinted for his life once more, dodging the .50 caliber bullets pouring from his former colleagues.
The figure wore a new black leather jacket that Jimmy had never seen before.
He turned his face toward Jimmy and the hunter beside him. His eyes were hidden behind sunglasses.
Scott noticed the creature as well. He stared at Joel, unblinking. Despite the chaos surrounding them, the very space and time they occupied felt eerily silent.
The hunter raised his rifle again without saying a word. The creature remained still.
Jimmy gasped. He looked back and forth between the two.
“Scott!” He yelled, “stop—”
But his wailing seemed unnecessary, as a booming noise erupted, causing him to instinctively cover his head.
“Jimmy! No!”
In the next moment, Jimmy felt something wrap around his shoulders and was pushed to the ground again. The back of his head nearly smashed against the concrete, and the rough fabric of a police riding coat covered his face.
Scott covered him with his entire body, holding his head tightly in his arms. Another explosion erupted in the distance, and in the corner of his eye, he saw the entire power station engulfed in a bright light.
He felt the heat on his face, but it didn't come from the light. Instead, it was from Scott’s chest, who was suffocating him with an overly tight embrace. The rifle pressed hard against his back, making the situation even more uncomfortable.
“…Scott…”
He grumbled and tried to push the hunter away, but Scott only hugged him tighter.
“Come on!” He pushed Scott in the chest, finally making Scott loosen his grip and reopen his eyes. Jimmy pointed eagerly toward the power station, shaking his arm. “Look!”
Scott turned his face toward it as well.
It was merely fireworks.
A lot, lots of fireworks.
From every inch of its broken ceiling, empty windows, and dysfunctional chimneys, blossoming golden flowers of fire emitted one after another. The rusty red walls were barely visible, completely covered from top to bottom with glitters and sparkles.
The vacant lot felt almost brighter than the day.
Scott finally released Jimmy and stood up from the floor. He watched the fire flowers bloom in complete awe. He dropped his rifle, and it clattered to the ground, but the sound was completely drowned out by the fireworks.
“He really wanted to create a fireworks show,” said Jimmy, getting up from the floor and standing beside the hunter. The other hunters were still chasing after Martyn, shouting his name in anger and firing their rifles in the crowd that was now in total chaos without hesitation. Meanwhile, Martyn was loudly cursing as he ran through the street.
“Whoa!” a teenager shouted from not far behind, pointing at the power station that had become part of tonight's firework show. “That is so fucking cool!”
“Yeah,” Jimmy said. “I suppose it really is.”
Scott didn't say anything; he simply watched the fireworks.
“Alright,” Jimmy decided it was time to quietly step away from the hunter. “I think I should leave—”
“Wait,” Scott said, turning his eyes to him in a lethargic tone. “We still have to go through standard police questioning—”
The next second, an actual explosion detonated in one of the turbine halls of the power station, causing the ground to tremble.
“Oh god!” “Nooooo!” The teenagers started to panic again, much more than when Scott fired his rifle.
“That’s definitely my cue to leave!” Jimmy exclaimed, jumping back from the exploding power station. “See you, Scott! Thanks for trying to save me, I guess!”
“Wait! Jimmy!”
“You have more important things to do, copper!” He ran away toward the wire fence without looking back. “There are kids around! Do your job!”
After a moment, he heard a laugh coming from behind him.
“I guess I’ll!”
Scott blew his whistle and clapped his hands toward the orange sky, using a firm and steady voice to announce, “Evacuate the area immediately! This is the Metropolitan Police!”
Jimmy couldn't help but smile despite his shortness of breath. He could still hear Martyn's panicked screams in the distance, along with the sound of multiple gunshots. When he squeezed through the gap and made it onto the street, he found it to be just as chaotic and frantic as the vacant yard he had just escaped. He glanced around and quickly spotted Joel, who was leaning against a wall by a closed shop front amid the turmoil of Battersea’s streets, smoking a cigarette.
“What-what did he give you?” He grasped Joel's arm and panted, receiving a plain white envelope smeared with blood.
It had been opened. The first item Jimmy pulled out was a piece of note paper with “St. Thomas Hospital” written on it in barely recognizable, messy handwriting.
He lowered the paper and glanced at Joel, who exhaled smoke in response.
“Funny guy,” Joel said, gesturing with his cigarette toward the source of the scream. “Isn’t he?”
“And what’s inside the rest of it?” Jimmy weighed the envelope in his hands. It still felt heavy.
“Check for yourself.”
Jimmy did so. He poured the remaining contents into his palm, discovering two pieces of candy for the humans and a bloody thumb for the creature.
“Jesus! Jesus! Stop chasing me! Oh my god! What did I even do?!”
Jimmy sighed deeply and leaned against the wall beside Joel. They watched the fireworks, the explosions, the gunshots, the scattering crowd, the screams, the whistles, and the blue-haired hunter trying to bring everything under control.
He popped one of the candies into his mouth and then offered the thumb to Joel, who accepted it.
Notes:
Sorry for how lengthy this chapter is (even compare to myself), but I really didn't want to break the story flow <\3
Also I have to sneak in my western media reference somewhere *flee from the scene*
Chapter 10: Black and Red
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
This afternoon, the sky was a dark shade of gray. Raindrops tapped on the red umbrella that he and Joel were sharing, and that was the only sound he could hear. Joel was wearing a black cashmere coat, which he had buttoned all the way to the top. Underneath, he had on an old white turtleneck sweater—one that Jimmy recognized from his days as a florist. While Jimmy held the umbrella for him, he kept his hands in his pockets. Joel likely still found the cold weather of the approaching winter unbearable, as he used to. They decided to take the tube instead of riding Joel’s Yamaha due to the rain. This had been the case for several days, and the journey to the graveyard was always long and tedious.
“Will he still be there?” Jimmy asked, gazing over the short stone wall beside them. He couldn't see any living being in sight. “It’s getting quite heavy.”
Joel remained silent and did not respond to him.
“I still think he won't talk to you,” Jimmy continued, even though he knew Joel wouldn't acknowledge his concern. “He’ll just walk away again.”
“Then we’ll follow him,” Joel said, quickening his pace. “I’m not letting him get away this time.”
“But—” Jimmy soon caught up with him, still attempting to shield his companion with the umbrella. “We can't find him if he wants to stay hidden, no matter how many times we try—”
“I said I’m not letting him,” Joel interrupted, reiterating, “if that's what it takes.”
“What, do you want to put him in the ICU again?” Jimmy let out a nonchalant laugh.
Joel returned to silence.
“…Maybe,” Jimmy shifted his gaze from Joel to the graveyard, “just let me handle the talking.”
“He doesn't want to hear you talk either, Jimmy,” Joel muttered. “If he did, he wouldn't have left the hospital so hastily. He doesn't want us to find him.”
“But he…”
Jimmy stopped in his tracks when he finally spotted a figure among the tombstones in the distance.
“Grian?”
He greeted the person in the hospital bed softly. The patient was facing the window, staring at the gathering clouds, and did not acknowledge the two visitors. A patient panel on the bed frame displayed a fake last name that Martyn had assigned: Woldraw. The plastic cover over the panel had deep scratch marks on it.
“Joel, he…” Jimmy tugged at the arm of the creature who was trying to hide behind him. “He—he brought you some flowers. Joel!” Jimmy gave him a gentle push, urging him to step forward while awkwardly holding a bouquet of asters to his side, attempting to hide it.
“Oh,” Grian still faced the window instead of looking at them, “you brought those? From a flower shop?”
“I rescued them,” Joel whispered. “They didn’t know how to properly care for asters…”
In an instant, it was knocked from Joel’s grasp. Its purple petals scattered across the bedspread and the floor, some still drifting gracefully through the air as Grian turned to them and said, “Get out of my sight.”
The petals floated gently in front of the dark bruises on his neck and the compression wrap around his chest.
“I said,” Grian turned his face back to the window. It began to rain again, with raindrops tapping against the glass. “Get out of my sight, monster.”
“You think you know him, don’t you?” Joel said flatly when he noticed the figure as well. “You didn’t even know his full name.”
“I…” Jimmy held the umbrella for Joel as he jumped over the wall, and soon followed, although the slippery stone bricks slowed him down. “But I know he’s not really that mad at you. There must be something else.”
“So kind of you, Jimmy,” Joel remarked as he walked towards the figure without an umbrella. Jimmy let out a frustrated grunt and hurried to catch up with him among the tombstones, wrapping his thin denim jacket around himself to shield against the chilling raindrops.
The figure stood in front of a broken tombstone, with only its base remaining. The gravekeepers had cleaned up the debris surrounding it. He held a black umbrella and wore a sandy beige Burberry trench coat, complemented by a scarf that covered his neck, dark red in color. Although he heard footsteps approaching, he didn’t turn to greet them; the umbrella shifted slightly in his hand.
“Grian,” Joel broke the silence first, stepping forward, “this is enough.”
Grian continued to focus his attention on the gravestone, remaining silent and not saying a word.
“You need to come back, Grian,” Joel urged.
“What if I don’t?” Grian asked. “Are you going to force me?”
Joel hesitated for a moment. He then said quietly, “I won’t if you hate it.”
Grian responded with a quiet hum. Joel stood in silence, his hands still in his pockets. Jimmy noticed that he shivered occasionally, but he kept a neutral expression toward Grian.
Jimmy took a deep breath, dragged Joel’s arm, and stepped aside, whispering to him, “We should go back.”
“I said I’m not going to,” Joel replied, exhaling a plume of white fog. He continued to shiver but kept his voice steady. “I didn’t blow up a power station for a lunatic just to let him slip away like that.”
“Yeah, and also yourself…” Jimmy grumbled, receiving raised eyebrows from Joel. “Never mind,” he sighed, returning to Grian.
“Grian,” he said, attempting to sound a bit more upbeat, “It has been a week. In fact, counting the days you spent in the hospital, it’s been three weeks. We need you…”
Grian turned his back to them this time, not letting Jimmy finish. All Jimmy could see was Grian's black umbrella.
“Come on,” Jimmy said weakly, “We need you back. Everything Joel made was either over-salted or undercooked.”
“…What? You said you liked them—”
“And Joel is doing a terrible job at feeding himself as well.” He dismissed Joel’s exclamation of disbelief and continued. “Even you would gag at the mess he’s made—”
“Jimmy, you’re the one who is supposed to clean it up!” Joel jumped slightly, then quickly adjusted his sunglasses to prevent them from falling. “How can you blame me for it?”
Grian, however, still had his back turned to him. His umbrella shook slightly, though.
“Please, Grian…” Jimmy approached the guy with his umbrella, prompting Joel to follow him, although he was a little reluctant. “I miss you deeply. I can't look after Joel by myself anymore.”
“What the hell?! Who prepared your breakfast?”
Jimmy quickly nudged him to silence, but he still felt the glare beneath the black lenses.
“And I… I…” Jimmy scratched his head and continued. “I need… I need money. Could you help me out?”
This time, after a brief silence, he heard laughter.
“What for, Timmy?”
Grian spoke, but he still faced the other way.
“I…” Jimmy lowered his head and spoke quietly in embarrassment. “I owe my dad money.”
“…What?”
He ignored Joel’s remark and continued, still addressing Grian, “I owed last month's rent to my landlord, and she called my emergency contact, which was…”
“Your dad?”
Grian erupted into a louder laugh.
“Just how hopeless can you be, Timmy?”
“Yes, and?” Jimmy raised his voice as his cheeks reddened. “Your emergency contact is Joel!”
Grian immediately stopped laughing.
Jimmy shook his head slightly and went on.
“I have to pay him back. I can't let him know I’m still jobless after months have passed. I even told him I had found a job…”
“Oh,” said Grian, turning toward him this time with the umbrella pole resting on his shoulder. “You want me to lend you money so you can continue lying to your dad.”
He wore the same uncanny smile he had the first time they met. His black pupils were focused solely on Jimmy, not even glancing at the creature beside him.
Jimmy swallowed hard, feeling his unease elicited by that unsettling stare. “Yes... I suppose so,” he replied.
“Really?” Grian tapped his shoulder with the umbrella pole. “You really expected me to lend you money? How are you going to repay me?”
Jimmy darted his eyes around, desperately searching for an excuse. “Uh… I’ll find a job someday?”
“Oh, I’m sure you will, Tim,” Grian said mockingly, without a hint of mercy.
“I—come on, Grian...” Jimmy sighed and lowered his gaze to the ground, staring at the damp, wilting grass. He sure hoped he looked pitiful enough. “Just help me out. You're the only one who can. You don't expect Joel to help me much, do you? He's as broke as I am.”
Joel glanced at him but remained silent, crossing his arms.
“I know, but it doesn’t matter to me.” Grian placed his hand in his pocket and tilted his head. “Best of luck to both of you, then, Jimmy. Constantly lying to parents is never an easy task.”
“No—please—” Jimmy began to wail immediately. “I can't ruin my reputation like this! I already have a bad enough time! I’ve been stabbed, almost fed to a monster, can’t find a job, and I don’t have anything decent to eat—”
This time, he heard a laughter once more.
“Who will you live with, then?” Grian continued after his laughter had stopped. “If he and I got separated?”
Jimmy was initially puzzled by the strange question. He shifted his gaze between Grian and the creature still with his arms crossed. After a few seconds of silent contemplation, Jimmy finally said, “Probably you. I have a feeling that sooner or later, Joel’s going to eat me if you’re not around.”
Joel didn't make a noise.
“Alright, Jimmy,” Grian responded with a smile, “I appreciate your loyalty. I’ll find a way.”
“…Wait,” Jimmy said in surprise, “For my debt? For real?!”
“I know how money works,” Grian shrugged.
“You do?!”
“But you people can't bother me any longer after this,” Grian said, turning his back once more. “This is the last thing I’ll do for you; then we’ll be even.”
On the way back to their base, Grian remained silent. He walked behind the other two much more slowly than usual, prompting them to wait for him multiple times, which he did not appreciate. Sitting across from them on the tube, he yawned occasionally, avoided Joel's gaze fixated on him the whole time, and listened intently to his Walkman.
When Grian and Jimmy sat on the loveseat again—a simple process that now took Grian a while to accomplish—Jimmy felt nervous about hearing the grand plan that he had apparently developed while enjoying music on the train. Meanwhile, Joel had begun preparing their dinner in silence, using the groceries he had stored next to his own meal in the fridge—a health code violation that Jimmy had reluctantly accepted for the past few weeks. The meal certainly outweighed the sacrifice, to say the least.
“I’m going to get you a bank card,” Grian said, nodding to himself. “You just use it to pay off the money you owe. It’s simple.”
“But—but I don't have any money to put in it?”
“They give you some when you open a bank account.”
“Wait a minute,” Jimmy said, frowning. “Are you referring to a credit account?”
“Oh, yes. Yes, of course.” Grian answered, still seeming completely confident. “That’s the one I’m talking about.”
“But I can't possibly repay it—”
“You just got rid of it?” Grian asked, dipping his hand into a bag of popcorn beside him on the seat. He seemed unaware that the popcorn had been prepared by Joel long before they left the base and was merely doing it out of habit. “Throw it away. That way, the bank can't track you down.”
They suddenly heard a loud clunk coming from the makeshift kitchen counter, drawing their attention. It was the sound of a kitchen knife snapping in half, with the tip firmly embedded in the cutting board among some potato chunks.
“Pardon me,” Joel said, still not turning to them, holding the knife handle stiffly in midair. “I will find another one.”
“Um…” Jimmy averted his gaze from the creature and bowed his head deeply. Then, with an uncontrollable frown, he said to Grian, “Grian… What do you think a bank account is?”
“A thing that holds all your money once they tricked you,” Grian stuffed more popcorn into his mouth and said bitterly,” so the bank can keep you hostage.”
“Wait… Then where do you keep all your money?”
“Readies.” Grian said, rolling his eyes as he grabbed more popcorn. “Of course.”
“I…” Jimmy rubbed his cheeks and then spoke feebly, “Could you tell me what else you know about banks?”
“What!” Grian exclaimed, “You don’t trust me, huh?”
“No…” Jimmy let his hands drop, “I’m just… morbidly curious.”
“They lent out money.”
“Yes, sort of.”
“They maintain an ideal humidity level in their vault for storing a hundred-year-old violin.”
“I…guess. But that's the central bank, not a regular one.
“And they create money.”
“You’re talking about the central bank again! Just—what was your violin doing at the Bank of England in the first place?”
Grian didn't respond; he simply stared at the popcorn dust on his fingers.
“Grian…” He messed with his hair and said, “I’m sorry, but… I don't think your plan will work.”
“Why!” Grian exclaimed, jumping a little in his seat. “It’s perfect! I know what I’m doing!”
“No, you don’t,” Jimmy said to him solemnly. “Just stop talking.”
“Oh,” Grian tossed the now-empty popcorn bag aside and dusted off his fingers. “So, you don't need my help anymore.”
“No, I think…” Jimmy stared at his knees. “I think you’ve given me some ideas.”
“Ideas? What else can you possibly think of, Tim?” Grian asked, sounding displeased. “Find a job?”
“Well—” Jimmy sighed deeply, “my degree can't land me a job in this economy, but at least I understand how money works, unlike you—”
“Hey!” Grian yelled.
“But the stock market isn't doing well.” Jimmy ignored him and continued, still staring at his knees. “It has been a bear market for a long time, and I don't think it’s getting any better. Interest rates are at an all-time high, and it certainly didn't help that you just robbed the Bank of England…”
Grian had a humorous expression on his face, but he remained silent.
“The only way I can get a large sum of money right now,” Jimmy mumbled, “is by scamming someone.”
Another knife snapped in half, the broken piece flew to the ceiling and remained there.
“Oh my,” Joel mumbled, tossing the second handle to the floor beside the first. He quickly withdrew his hand from the cutting board. His fingers had several deep cuts on the back with blood dripping down. “Perhaps I'm getting quite rusty.”
Grian rolled his eyes at Joel.
For the next hour, an amazing aroma wafted from the pot of scouse that Joel had left on a portable gas stove. During this time, Jimmy was busy crafting a detailed plan and trying to explain basic economic concepts as if he were addressing a five-year-old. Joel leaned against the wall beside the dinner he had prepared for the humans, his frown growing deeper as the conversation continued. Several times, Jimmy noticed that Joel seemed ready to interject with Grian’s question about why people take out loans, but he kept his lips pressed tightly together, holding back his thoughts after some contemplation.
“I’m considering committing foreign exchange…fraud. The rate isn't performing well either. However, the general public often doesn't understand why—”
“What…” Grian interrupted, still looking confused. “Foreign exchange? Exchange for what?”
“Currency?” Jimmy looked back, then heard a loud growl from a stomach that wasn't his own, but Grian acted like nothing happened. “You know, when you exchange your money for a foreign one?”
“But why is there a rate? Isn't it always one-to-one?”
“Wha—” Jimmy wailed, mouth wide open. “Grian, which world are you living in?!”
Grian turned his face straight ahead, his complexion paling. He bit his lip hard in silence.
“…Grian?”
Jimmy asked cautiously.
“So, it’s…” Grian spoke again, his voice turning dark and serious, “not one-to-one.”
“It’s not. Pounds are usually considered quite expensive…” Upon noticing the clenched fists on Grian’s laps, Jimmy said, “What… What do you think of it?”
“I’ve been cheated,” Grian said through gritted teeth, fists clenched until his knuckles were white. “They’re dead to me. I think we have a target, Timmy.”
“…Huh?”
Before Grian could speak again through his trembling lips, a bowl of beef stew was thrust into his hands.
“Eat it,” Joel said while stepping back and returning to the kitchen counter in search of something. “I know you’re hungry.”
Grian glanced at him before quickly lowering his gaze to the stew. “I'm in the middle of a conversation,” he said.
“You can have dinner at the same time,” Joel said, returning to the loveseat with a spoon, which he placed in Grian’s bowl. “You talk while you eat every single day.”
“It’s too hot,” Grian lifted the spoon and then dropped it back into the bowl. “You moron. Did you forget that humans can't eat something that's boiling? Weren't you a human for a whole fucking twenty-five years?”
Joel was at a loss for words for a while as Grian continued to avoid his gaze.
The awkwardness persisted for some time until he reached down for the bowl again, saying softly, “I’m sorry.”
Before he could reach it, Grian abruptly slapped it off his lap. It scattered across the concrete floor.
“You’re so sorry, aren't you?” Grian repeated with bitterness, kicking a broken piece of ceramic toward Joel. “Oh, I'm sure you are, Joel. Just look at how sorry you are. So pitiful.”
The tip of Joel’s boot brushed against the broken pieces, alongside splattered vegetables and beef that released the aroma of a well-prepared meal.
Jimmy remained silent, holding his breath as he glanced back and forth between the two.
“What,” Grian continued with an unpleasant smile emerging, although it was tenser and a bit more unnatural than usual, “are you going to kill me? Is that all you can do—”
Joel suddenly knelt on the floor.
It definitely startled Grian. He quickly hid behind Jimmy, and Jimmy could hear his short, rapid breaths.
Joel, on the other hand, just quietly began picking up the broken pieces without saying a word.
“Stay there.” He then grumbled, shoving the broken pieces into the empty popcorn bag Grian left. His hand started to bleed again. “It’s dangerous; there are sharp pieces everywhere.”
Grian glanced over Jimmy's shoulder to watch him.
“What?” he taunted, his voice trembling slightly. “Is that all you’re going to do, Joel?”
“Who else is going to clean up this mess? Have you forgotten that you are still in recovery?” Joel muttered, sounding more annoyed than anything. “Just go back to making your stupid plan.”
After a moment of thought, Jimmy brushed Grian off his arm and shoulder, got up from the loveseat, grabbed a kitchen towel from the sink, and went to the floor beside Joel.
Grian watched them with wide, vacant eyes. His hands clenched slightly on the seat.
“…Grian,” Jimmy said as he got up from the floor to wash his towel for the final time, while Joel finished tidying up the rubbish bag, “We all know you’re hungry. Just have some scouse.”
“I’m not going to eat something he made,” said Grian, glaring at Jimmy. “I rather starve myself to death—”
Another bowl was being placed on his lap by Joel. This time the bowl was stained with his blood.
“Eat it. It’s cold enough.”
Joel stepped back from the man, who looked down at his meal.
“I know it probably doesn't taste great,” Joel continued in a low, quiet voice, “I know, Grian. I know.”
He stormed off the base in silence afterward. He took out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and lit one while still indoors.
Once the rolling door was closed, keeping the cold air out, Jimmy turned to Grian and asked, "Are you happy now?"
“What!” Grian exclaimed, gently stroking the bowl with his fingers. “You said his food was terrible!”
“That's because I tried to get you to come back!” Jimmy raises his voice in utter disbelief, “I tried to get on your good side! We both did!”
Grian let out a grunt and stopped his fingers. He grabbed his arm tightly, clenching the fabric of his trench coat.
After observing him for a while, Jimmy pressed his forehead and let out a deep sigh.
“This is getting ridiculous. Just eat your meal!” He returned to his seat beside Grian. “For the love of God, stop being so childish.”
Grian remained silent as he slowly raised his spoon from the stew, focusing his gaze on the piece of beef, coated in a layer of golden broth.
“He isn't here,” Jimmy said. “I won't tell him if you prefer that.”
Grian took some time to decide before he finally chose to have a little nibble.
He then shoved the spoon into his mouth.
Jimmy couldn't help but smile when he asked, “Do you like it?”
Grian remained silent, primarily because his mouth was full of scouse and he continued to shove more in.
“Grian!” Jimmy exclaimed, “You need to slow down!”
Grian shook his head and continued to engage in gluttony.
“Just—” Jimmy said, astonished. “How hungry have you been?”
“I—” Grian began, but as soon as the first word left his mouth, he started coughing. This prompted Jimmy to leave the loveseat and fetch him a bottle of water. Once Grian took the offered water and gulped it down, he handed the bottle back to Jimmy, catching his breath as he said, “…I just haven't had any good food for a while. The food at the hospital was terrible.”
“Even compared to your level?”
“It’s at your level, Timmy,” Grian said dryly and grabbed the spoon again. “Why doesn’t he ever cook for me? Why is he always hiding?”
“It’s because you are a terrible companion to him!” Jimmy twisted the bottle close and lowered it to the floor. “Why should he be nice to you if you always treat him like that?”
“Oh,” Grian said, his mouth full of potatoes, “So you think it’s my fault that he hurt me, don't you?”
Jimmy averted his gaze from the black eyes and remained silent.
“How many times has he apologized for what happened in Camden?” Grian continued, eating his meal. “Wait, let me guess—it's zero.”
“He doesn't like what he did,” Jimmy argued. “He tried to go to the police. He worked for a madman and got injured just to bring you back. You just don't know—”
“No,” Grian said, cutting him off and throwing the spoon into the bowl rather harshly. “I already knew; Martyn told me.”
“What—” Jimmy wailed. “When?!”
“After I woke up, he sneaked in, saying he was mainly there to take a photo with me for some reason, and I scared him off.”
“…Huh?” He blinked slowly. “You—how could anyone scare away someone like—”
“I did my blackmailing,” Grian said with a satisfied smile. “I said that I would do something horrible to someone he cares about. I initially thought he didn't have anyone and was just trying to bluff, but to my surprise, he backed away. What a strange man.”
“Well, that... Just forget about it.” Jimmy bowed his head in dismay. “So, you know Joel feels terrible—”
“He doesn’t,” Grian said, picking up the spoon and slicing a carrot in half, “and the way you keep saying he does is getting on my nerves.”
“You say this because you weren't there to witness it happening…”
“And you say this because you're being deceived by his performance.”
Jimmy weakly slapped his hand on the seat and asked, “What are you talking about?”
“Do you really know him anyway, Tim?” Grian asked, biting into the carrot without looking at him. “How long do you think he had been smoking?”
“I…” Jimmy thought for a moment. “I don't know. Was it after he died?”
“Nope,” Grian said, leaning back in his seat after setting down his spoon. The stew in his bowl was almost gone. “He had been smoking for at least a couple of years before he turned. That’s why he insisted he couldn’t quit, even after I complained several times about the strange smell. Well, I guess now I know that it wasn't from tobacco.”
“But I never seen him—”
“Yeah,” Grian said, nodding slightly as he turned toward him. “You don't know, do you?”
Jimmy was wordless.
“Because he’s your perfect Mr. Florist.” Grian turned his attention to the light bulb hanging above them. “You’ll always forgive everything he did because he was kind to you. He can do no wrong. Even if he makes mistakes, it’s always because he was torn and heartbroken. Ah, so tragic. But if that’s the case, why did he do what he did?”
“But… He stopped. He didn't kill you—”
“It’s not that he didn’t want to, Jimmy,” Grian said, tugging at the scarf around his neck. “You were there; you saw him. He genuinely wanted to kill me, despite everything we went through together and all that we did for each other… I’m still alive only because you were there, and he didn’t want you to see him like that. That’s. It.”
“No, it’s because that’s not who he is…”
Grian let out a dry laugh. “Don’t you ever, Jimmy, wonder why he simply walked away from his previous life like that?”
“He can’t run a shop as a cannibalistic monster, can he?”
“Yes, and,” Grian nodded, “I believe he's grown tired of everything.”
“Tired?” Jimmy lowered his eyes to the bowl on Grian’s lap. “Of his previous life? That’s not possible. He had everything together. He even had a girlfriend…”
“...Really!” Grian exclaimed, clapping his hands. “Then why is he broke? Why did he choose to let her wonder about his whereabouts while he went wherever he pleased, without giving her any closure? You saw how much she struggled to let him go, yet he refused to provide her with an answer, not even showing his face. That's pretty mean-spirited, even by my standards.”
“I... don’t know,” Jimmy muttered. “He said he would rather let her think of him as dead, but he still went to see her.”
“Or…maybe,” Grian said in a quieter voice, “he gave up everything because he didn’t see himself as having much to begin with. Running a shop by himself isn’t easy. It’s also challenging to maintain the facade of being a perfect, impeccable person all the time.”
“No, that's… I…” Jimmy tried to argue but soon stopped himself. He then asked wearily, “Did he ever tell you how long he had that motorbike?”
Grian tapped his cheek. “Judging by how much he knows about it, I’d say at least a couple of years. He even offered me some well-informed suggestions when I decided to get one. What, you didn't know that either?”
Jimmy gently shook his head, cradling his face in his hands.
Grian let out a hearty laugh.
“Well, it didn't make me see him as unconventional. I know he must come from an unremarkable background, perhaps as a model citizen, and that his violence is a result of his circumstances. But then I changed my mind.”
“…Why?”
“Because of how he kills, Timmy,” Grian said with a smile. “When I saw him killing, he seemed to act as if he didn’t enjoy it. But why the mess? Why use so much strength, knowing he’s far stronger than any living human on earth? Why is he behaving this way if just a few months ago he was nothing but a gentle florist? Maybe, just maybe… he actually enjoys tearing things apart, as he always has.”
“But he was never a violent person,” Jimmy said, “or at least he never let me know.”
“Nah, I’m pretty sure he wasn’t skilled at all. He was far too inexperienced when it came to managing his violence. Perhaps he is pleased to have become this kind of person, but,” Grian put an arm around his shoulder, “what bothers me the most…is that sometimes I can sense his melancholy.”
“Didn’t you say it’s all just performative?” Jimmy said, allowing him.
“Oh, come on, Jimmy, now I can sense your melancholy, too,” Grian said with a pat. “There was one time, after we had just dig our first bone pit. He disappeared for a few hours that night. When I finally found him, I...” Grian paused and lowered his arm, “I saw him sitting alone in the woods, silently watching the bones. I knew he could hear me, but he didn’t acknowledge my presence. He just sat there, observing the lives he had taken to continue his own.”
“Do you think,” Jimmy said softly, “that he felt any guilt?”
“Of course,” Grian replied, “but it didn't stop him from continuing his existence as a monster.”
“…But…why?”
Jimmy murmured.
“That's the question,” Grian said, looking down at the bowl. “Why?”
They both lingered in the silence that followed for a while.
“I think…” Jimmy broke the stillness and straightened himself, “I believe I should take back my words.”
“What words?”
“I don’t think you’re childish, Grian,” he replied. “I believe you're just as lost as I am right now. People tend to act like children when they are confused.”
Grian, in response, lifted the bowl again, grabbed the spoon, and continued to finish it. “It’s possible,” he said nonchalantly.
“So…are you still thinking about giving up on him?”
Grian shook his head.
“What caused you to change your mind?”Jimmy chuckled. “Was it his amazing cooking?”
“I didn’t. I’m just mad at him.” Grian replied. “I always feel this way about him. Well, this scouse definitely gave him some extra points.”
“Alright,” Jimmy said, running his fingers through his hair. He added weakly, “What way? Could you explain it in more detail?”
“…I can’t give you the answer you're looking for, if I'm being honest,” Grian said, dropping the spoon back into the empty bowl. “Maybe he should have just killed me back then, or I wouldn't feel this conflicted. It’s all your fault, Jimmy.”
“How’s that my fault again!”
Grian grabbed his elbow and remained silent for a moment.
“I think…” he finally said, sounding uncertain about his answer. “I just want to get to know him better. I didn't have many people around me, and he was the first. Doesn't the Lord just want to play tricks on me by sending a sorrowful, aggressive, kind-hearted, yet cruel monster my way?”
He chuckled softly before continuing.
“That’s why I picked him up from the street. He’s not part of my world, and that’s what makes him exciting. But people tend to fear what they don’t understand. Unfortunately for him, his mere existence is incomprehensible, nor the person behind all his identities. There is always a monster living inside the florist, and there is also always a florist inside the monster. Yet we are all too limited by our own experiences to know him fully: just a person named Joel.”
“Do you still see him as a person?” After receiving a nod and a shrug from Grian, Jimmy continued, “then why do you keep calling him a monster?”
“Oh, so you’re back by his side again!” Grian protested.
“N-no, I'm just…curious.”
Grian chuckled coldly and said, “You know, Jimmy, maybe you’re right about what happened at Camden. I'm just trying to make my life easier by choosing to see the side of him that he presented to me, and so are you. But I can’t run away like that anymore. Just look at what it brings me: several broken ribs and a concussion and put me into a coma. And what does it bring him? Out there smoking by himself again, and Lord knows what he was thinking—”
His voice was drowned out by thunder.
A loud, roaring thunder made Jimmy’s heart skip a beat. It sounded close, almost as if it were striking from the sky directly above their old, decrepit building.
“What was that?!” Jimmy lowered his hands from his ears. “Thunder? In November?”
“It certainly seems that way,” Grian quickly set the bowl down. “That’s not Joel’s doing, is it?”
“How could he have possibly done that? Grian—”
“I know!” Grian exclaimed with a loud laugh, but then he quickly stopped and patted himself on the chest. He attempted to rise from the loveseat, but it clearly still pained him. “Didn't he say he wanted to be the thunder god once?”
“Wait,” Jimmy said, quickly assisting him to stand up. “Where are you going? You need to rest—”
“Go out and find our Joel,” Grian said, focusing his attention on the rolling door. “He doesn't like cold weather, does he? We better get him back before he starts shivering like a sad puppy again.”
Jimmy gave Grian an exaggerated eye roll, but he couldn't help grinning. He held the rolling door up as high as he could for Grian, then caught up with him, calling the creature at the top of his lungs.
“Joel!”
It was dark outside, with little functional street lamps in this part of London, and the moon was completely concealed by looming clouds. However, Jimmy could sense that Joel was nearby, as the familiar scent still lingered in the air. It didn't take long for him to spot Joel by the bridge, just around the corner from their base. This was the same bridge where he had shared countless memories with these two in the past months.
Joel stood by the stone railing, watching the dark silhouettes of the factories that had been undergoing demolition for the past few weeks. The cold wind, heralding an impending thunderstorm, blew through his hair. He kept his hands tucked in his pockets.
“Joel.”
Grian stepped forward, and Jimmy followed him. Joel did not respond.
“Let’s return to our base.” Grian stopped beside him at the railing. “It’s going to rain again.”
Joel turned to face him but remained silent. He wasn't wearing his sunglasses.
But this time, in the complete darkness of the night, his pupils were no longer slits; they were just like a human's, but much larger than normal.
Round and big, reminding Jimmy of—
So that's the weird cat eye thing Grian was talking about, Jimmy wondered, then he smiled.
“I don't need to,” said Joel. “I can't catch a cold.”
“But you’ll get wet.”
Joel gave Grian a dispassionate shrug and then returned to watch the factories across the river.
“Alright,” Grian grabbed Joel by the lapel, forcing him to look at him. “So we are doing this again.”
“Wait—wait!” Jimmy quickly reacted and lunged forward, but Grian raised his other hand, signaling him to stop.
“I know you probably don’t want to talk to me,” Grian said, lowering his hands and giving Joel a gentle shove on the chest. “Then I’m not going to ask.”
Joel remained silent and frowned. He watched Grian raise his hands again and pulled his scarf to lift it off his neck, revealing the fading gray bruises on his skin. They no longer resembled a handprint.
Afterward, Grian said nothing but quickly wrapped it around Joel’s neck and tightened it into a knot before Joel could take a step back.
“Warm,” Grian grinned, tugging the scarf and pulling Joel closer, face to face. His grin was just as unpleasant as ever. “Isn't it? I warm it up for you. You better appreciate it, you bastard.”
Joel observed him for a moment, his face remaining mostly expressionless.
“I suppose it is,” he finally replied, his voice quiet.
“And?” Grian released him and spat out the words. “Do you like it or not?”
Instead of responding, Joel gazed down at the red scarf. He parted his lips and blinked slowly, but no words emerged.
Afterward, he pulled a hand from the pocket of his coat, holding a black object, which he gradually raised toward Grian, who stared at it for a few seconds before taking it.
He pressed the side of it with his thumb.
A blue electric spark flared in the darkness from the tip of the stun gun.
“I brought this for you,” Joel said, turning his face toward the dark water below, “so you don't have to be scared of me.”
Grian looked up from the stun gun in his hand and grinned widely again.
He tossed the stun gun into the river, and a small splash echoed.
Joel immediately pressed his hands against the railing, watching the river in disbelief. Yet Grian grabbed his scarf again to get his attention.
“I don't need that stupid thing,” Grian said, shaking his scarf. “From now on, every time you hurt me, it’s your own fault. And put your sunglasses back on. I didn't buy those for you just for you to ignore them. Did you hear me, Joel?”
After a brief silence, a faint smile appeared on the creature's face as a white lightning bolt struck the earth in the distance.
“Yes,” he answered, his voice nearly drowned out by another rumbling thunder. “I heard you, Grian.”
Notes:
More artwork by @mi3-4 (a lot of mean gills):
https://www.tumblr.com/mi3-14/780044658381324288/for-ua-theres-spoilers
https://www.tumblr.com/mi3-14/780699814499319808/theres-spoilers-to-ua
Chapter 11: Élégie for an Orange Blossom
Chapter Text
As he went through the exhausting task of sorting through boxes of his old belongings that had been stacked in the corner of their base, an urgent violin solo began playing. He glanced over at the guy on the loveseat, who was wholeheartedly performing Vivaldi’s “Winter” for an unappreciative audience. Despite the lack of recognition, the violinist seemed unfazed, with last night’s replay of The Love Boat playing in the background.
“Grian!” Jimmy shouted when he opened another box, discovering it was filled with summer clothing. Even with the rolling door closed, the cold air caused his breath to form white fog. “Could you please play something less on the nose?”
“It gives you a sense of urgency,” Grian placed the bow on the violin once more and smiled, his nose and cheeks red. “Winter is coming, Timmy. You’d better find your warmer clothes, or God help you.”
The violin solo continued, completely disregarding his protest.
“Why aren't your fingers freezing?” Jimmy sighed and pushed the box aside to search for another. “And I don’t need God to help me. Joel is going to come back with a heater very soon.”
Grian seemed to believe that playing his violin was more important than talking to him.
“I can't believe you gave him money to buy a heater, but you can't lend me any,” Jimmy went on bitterly, his voice drowned out by Vivaldi’s “Winter” and the rom-com. “What did he do differently?”
The last note finally faded away, and the violinist set the antique instrument down beside him. “He mentioned that we need a heater, or you might freeze to death on our loveseat one morning. He said he’s not into the idea of eating you really that much; it's a far more noble cause than anything you have in mind.”
Jimmy shot him a dirty look and opened another box. “Stop lying and just tell me what he cooked to bribe you this time. Was it churros again?”
Grian quickly turned his gaze to the side and began to whistle poorly.
“He can't just keep giving you sweets and fried foods!” Jimmy exclaimed. “He’s contributing to your poor diet!”
“What are you going to do about it, huh?” Grian clasped his hands together and blew into them to get some warmth. “You can't stop him from trying to get on my good side, nor can you stop me from eating them. Stop complaining.”
“Are churros really worth more to you than my life?” Jimmy asked, turning his gaze back to the box. This time, he discovered some old books inside, all with titles like Twenty Ways to Succeed in Your Twenties, which deeply irritated him.
“Well, that,” Grian said with a nod, “and I’m cold, too. He better get back here soon, or I’ll start burning your belongings—”
Both of them shifted their attention to the sound of a motorcycle approaching, accompanied by a citrusy scent. Prompted by this, Grian grabbed his bow and violin again, beginning to play another dark and somber piece with intensity and full focus. He was still playing when they heard the engine turn off, and Joel lifted the door open, holding an unblemished package box against the light snow outside.
“Wait,” Jimmy stood up from his pile of belongings. “Did you buy a new one?”
“Gri—” Before Joel could finish, he sneezed and then said, with composure and a sniff, “Grian said we need a proper one or it can't keep you warm at night.”
“I didn't say anything. I asked you to choose one that won't break.” Grian paused his bow movement and added, without looking at Joel, “Could you please stop interrupting me? I'm playing Sarasate’s Zigeunerweisen, you tone-deaf idiot.”
“I'm not bloody tone-deaf,” Joel muttered, dropping the door and placing the package box on the floor. “I can hear you just made a mistake.”
Grian's cheeks flushed a deeper red. He didn't say anything and resumed playing.
While Joel was busy setting up the heater and looking for a place to plug it in, Grian lowered his violin again and started rubbing his hands together to warm them up. Noticing Grian's discomfort, Joel placed the heater beside the loveseat and turned it on. Grian immediately scooted closer, extending his hands toward the warmth with a quiet sigh of relief.
“Shouldn't you say something?” Joel asked, shoving the violin aside as he took the other end of the loveseat.
“What?” Grian still kept his arms raised toward the heater, his fingers covered by a warm orange glow.
Joel said nothing but turned his attention to his white flip-top gloves, unbuttoning them and transforming them into a pair of mittens.
“I paid for it,” Grian stated, placing his hands in his lap. “I don’t owe you anything.”
Joel simply shrugged and pulled the red scarf up over his nose.
“Oh my gosh,” Jimmy exclaimed, tossing a smoky green jacket to the top of the pile that was his old belongings. “Just tell Grian you need a thank you. It’s not that difficult.”
Joel muttered dryly under his scarf, “I don’t need to be—”
“Thank you,” Grian interrupted him with two soft words and turned back to the heater immediately.
Joel gave him an unemotional hum in response.
Jimmy looked back and forth between the two, then sighed. He returned to his pile of boxes, and this time, when he opened another one, a piece of paper greeted him.
He lifted it and stared at it for a while, observing his name printed at the top.
“James Ó Briosáin?” He heard a voice just inches from his ear. Grian seemed to have been standing there for who knows how long, bending down to get a better look at his degree. “Who the hell is that?”
“That’s me, of course.” Jimmy placed the degree down and grumbled, trying to cover it with that jacket. “It’s my degree from UCL.”
“Your name is James?” Grian exclaimed, his mouth hanging open as he snatched it away from Jimmy’s poor attempt to hide it. He stared at the name and wailed, “I thought you were Timmy!”
“Wha—Then why do you still call me Jimmy?”
“I thought Joel had misspoken, and I thought it was funny—”
“Your name is James?!”
This time, after a few moments of taking this information in, his old boss shouted in utter disbelief.
“It’s not Timothy?!”
Jimmy pressed the heel of his palm against his forehead and closed his eyes tightly.
“Then why do you keep calling him Jimmy?” Grian asked, straightening himself up and turning to Joel while waving the certificate at him. “Joel, what’s wrong with you?”
“But he never corrected me on whether to call him Jimmy or Timmy!” Joel protested, arms crossed as he sank deeper into his seat.
“Joel—” Jimmy lowered his hand. “You have my legal documents from when I got the job! How could you—how could you not know my name?”
“…I…” Joel hugged himself tighter and whispered, “I thought it was quite private and didn’t feel comfortable checking it.”
“Wait,” Grian started to laugh, tossing the paper back onto the box. “Is that really how you run a business?”
“Who are you to judge when you don't even know how to take out a loan?” Joel said, displeased. “Shut up, Master Wardlow.”
“Oh, you think you’re so funny, Mr. I-don’t-want-anyone-to-know-my-surname-is-Beans?” Grian took a step forward toward the loveseat immediately. “And who’s the moron who can’t even get James’s name right?”
“Oh my g—” Jimmy stood up from his pile of mess and positioned himself between the two heated individuals. “Gentlemen, could you please stop arguing with each other for just two seconds? And stop calling me James!”
Grian stepped back while Joel turned his face to the side. Jimmy glanced back and forth between them but decided not to say a word. Instead, he knelt down again to pick up the piece of paper, now wrinkled from Grian’s grasp. He lifted it up and stared at his name printed on the top of it.
When he heard the quiet squeaking of the old loveseat beneath the noise of the rom-com playing, he didn't react.
“Don’t you need to frame it?” Joel asked as he kneeled beside him, leaning toward the certificate.
“Why do I need to do that?”
“…Maybe,” Joel said hesitantly, “you could hang it… on the wall?”
“N-no,” Jimmy whispered, causing more wrinkles on the paper from gripping it hard unconsciously. “It’s better off hiding away.”
“You’re wrinkling it,” Joel said, raising a mittened hand toward it. “Jimmy, stop—”
Jimmy forcefully snatched it from the mittened hand, causing a small tearing noise.
Both of them fell silent. Joel lowered his sight to the small piece of torn paper in his hand and then shifted his attention to the certificate in Jimmy’s hand, which was now missing a corner.
Jimmy remained quiet at first, focusing on the certificate in his hand before tossing it onto the messy pile. "It’s not your fault," he stood up from the floor and reached for the loveseat. "I didn't realize you were grabbing it and you can't control your strength."
Joel was still by the boxes, holding the torn piece of paper tightly in his fist.
After what felt like an eternity of trying to distract himself with the tele, Jimmy saw that Grian was the first one to make a move.
“Joel,” Grian said in a soft voice, bowing slightly. “We need to talk.”
He stepped out of Harrods feeling like a changed man. He wore a thick wool peacoat in a dark muted blue that kept him warm and made him feel like a business professional, lifting his spirits just a little. Grian had also given him a silver tie, helping him tie and flatten it as neatly as possible. As he stepped outside, snow began to accumulate on his shoulders, which he tried to dust off.
Grian was the only one to return inside their base after his lengthy private conversation with Joel that morning. Shortly after, he declared that today was the day they should finally execute their plan for financial fraud. At first, Jimmy was hesitant; he voiced his lack of motivation and expressed a desire to just watch television for the rest of the day. In response, Grian made one of his usual murderous threats.
At least this time Grian was a bit gentler about it.
When Jimmy asked why he needed to buy new clothes, Grian looked at the smoky green jacket Jimmy was about to pick for the harsh weather, as he couldn't find the rest of his winter clothes. Grian shook his head in disapproval, wearing a frown of disgust.
The gracious sponsor of his new outfit, however, had insisted that he return home as soon as they made the purchase and urged Jimmy to meet at a different location later that evening. After a short trip on the tube, Jimmy emerged from the underground into the bustling streets of Bloomsbury. With each step toward the grand ivory building in the distance, he felt increasingly nervous. The enormous front yard was covered by a thin layer of snow, which looked rather orange under the street lamps.
Stopping in front of the entrance of the British Museum after closing hours, Jimmy looked up at the Roman columns that vanished into the shadows of the imposing rooftop beneath the dark evening sky. Most of the tourists had gone, but the place was not empty. Soft yellow lights illuminated the entrance, and a reception desk draped in a champagne-colored tablecloth stood beside a simple yet elegant banner stand.
Director’s Night, Winter 1981.
“Pardon me.” A middle-aged couple apologized as they passed him on their way to the reception desk. They were extremely well-dressed, much like the rest of the sparse crowd. The men wore tailored suits and tuxedos, while the women donned modest yet expensive dresses, complemented by some furs. Some guests were chatting pleasantly near the Roman columns, sharing a cigarette or two while soft piano music flowed from the front gate.
After skimming through his surroundings, Jimmy started to look down at his new coat and smoothed it absentmindedly, even though there weren't any wrinkles.
That’s why Grian insisted on getting him something fancy to wear. Despite the uneasy feeling building in his chest, he found himself fitting in with the prestigious patrons around him. He glanced around again after checking his outfit, looking for someone among the scattered passers-by who might resemble Grian.
He suddenly felt icy-cold hands being shoved into his collar, accompanied by a giggle.
“Grian!”
He jumped, attempting to shake them off, but they kept digging deeper into his collar.
“Stop! For the love of God—”
Jimmy pushed the hands away and found Grian laughing uncontrollably. To his surprise, Grian wasn't dressed like a typical patron. Instead of choosing a more appropriate outfit, he wore one of Joel's cashmere coats, which was slightly oversized for him.
The maniacal laughter certainly attracted the attention of the few people nearby who had been enjoying a peaceful evening just moments before. Most of the glances were filled with annoyance toward the pair, who clearly seemed too young to be in that setting.
Grian finally composed himself after laughing so hard. “Come on, Jimmy, my hands are cold,” he said.
“Why are you wearing his clothes, first of all?” Jimmy asked, wrinkling his nose. “Is that what took you so long with him? Stealing his clothes?”
“Do you really want to know?” Grian asked, sounding innocent.
“What? Just spill it out—” Before he could finish speaking, an uneasy sensation washed over him.
He glanced around but did not see the creature anywhere in the courtyard. All he could smell was the pleasant fragrance of orange blossoms, and he soon discovered their source. A few staff members were carrying boxes of supplies and vases filled with decorative flowers through the gate, and some of them were orange blossoms.
“Alright,” Grian urged him forward, interrupting his investigation. “It’s time to get in; it’s freezing cold.”
“How are we doing that?” He turned to the guy pushing him toward the reception, who had a mischievous smile. “Are you a patron?”
“Really, Jimmy?” Grian stepped past him at the reception desk. “Do I look like I enjoy wasting money?”
“Uh… Good evening?” The receptionist said nervously as Grian stood in front of him, staring in silence. He quickly lowered his gaze to the register booklet and asked, “Could you please provide us with your name?”
“I’m not included on this list,” Grian tilted his head slightly. “Don’t waste your time.”
“Al-right?” The receptionist sounded confused. “Then, you can’t—”
“Oh, I get it now,” Grian said, stepping away from the desk while maintaining eye contact with the receptionist. “I need an invitation, don’t I? Pardon me, I’m slow with social cues.”
“Yes,” the man replied, glancing at the nearby security guard, who quickly stepped forward. “I’m sorry, but you’ll have to leave.”
Grian, however, did not take the order. Instead, he unbuttoned the black trench coat that did not belong to him.
“Sorry for my misdemeanor,” said Grian, tossing the clothes to Jimmy, who instinctively caught them. He adjusted the black bowtie around his neck and cleared his throat. In a much lower and more composed voice, he said, “Please pass on a message to Mr. Curator for me.” Leaning forward toward the surprised receptionist, he added, “Tell him that Grian Wardlow wants to attend his dinner party. Oh, and let him know I said hello to his late wife.”
When the receptionist emerged from the gate, his pale face indicated something was amiss as he informed them they were allowed to enter. Jimmy did not expect the utter silence that followed when they climbed the endless stairway in the entrance hall. He found himself walking behind Grian, largely due to the uncomfortable glare he noticed directed at this man, who seemed completely unbothered by the situation.
He looked up toward Grian a few stairs above him, dressed in a well-fitted black tuxedo and wearing a pair of black leather oxford shoes with bright red soles that stood out as he climbed each stair.
That’s…
He began to hear whispers from a few guests on the stairs. They parted to let the Wardlow through, and some halted their steps with strange expressions as if they were witnessing a scandal.
That couldn't be…
Grian continued to step forward, completely ignoring them.
“Jimmy?”
Finally noticing that his companion was falling behind, Grian turned back toward him.
“Why are you moving so slow?” he complained.
Beside the dark red peak lapels of his tuxedo, a single strand of raven feather was tucked into the breast pocket among a cluster of pine needles. The choice of decorations was definitely unusual, but it seemed to capture the most attention from the guests.
“…I…” Jimmy swallowed hard, glancing around. He was trying to make himself as unnoticeable as possible, and Grian’s action definitely did the opposite.
“Come on,” Grian said with an eye roll as he stepped down and began dragging his arm. “They won’t kill you. They’re just a bunch of morons.”
“But—but they are—” he said quietly when the guy dragged him upward.
“Yeah, yeah. Lords and ladies or whatnot,” Grian said loudly, drawing more disgusted glances toward him. “Just move along. They won’t stop looking.”
“And why are they looking at you like that?” Jimmy asked weakily. “Do I really want to know?”
Grian smiled at him and said nothing more.
As soon as they entered the gallery, he frowned upon realizing they had arrived at the Egyptian Sculpture section. Tables with candles were set up beneath artifacts that clearly belonged to temples rather than a dining venue. The magnificent sculptures, with their broken eyepieces, appeared to bow unsettlingly toward the patrons. Yet, no one seemed to be bothered by it; they continued to chat amongst themselves, creating a soft buzz in the air.
Everything gradually came to a halt when Grian walked through the central walkway. Guests who were engaged in joyful conversations fell silent as soon as they noticed him passing by. Some appeared confused and seemed ready to speak, but quickly picked up on social cues to remain quiet. Others turned pale, almost fainting at the sight of him. As he approached the broken half-statue of King Ramesses II in the centre, the hall was dead silent. The only remnants of the once joyful gallery were the grand piano playing softly in the background and someone’s muffled coughing.
Jimmy stopped while Grian continued on his journey. He truly didn't want to be involved in what was about to unfold, as it was clearly beyond his concern.
An old man stood under the king’s statue, his expression solemn, seemingly waiting for an unwelcome guest. Grian halted in front of him and gave a floral, exaggerated deep bow.
“Good evening, sir,” he said to the old man, holding a bright, wide grin. “I come in peace.”
“Peace?” the old man repeated with a light chuckle. “Hope you’ll enjoy the little night I’ve prepared, Lord Wardlow.”
“You know I don't have that title,” Grian replied, still grinning, “But I’ll forgive your mistake, because I'm a kind-hearted gentleman and you’re one of my most gracious clients.”
Someone let out a shallow gasp after that sentence, which amused Grian.
“Honestly, Mr. Wardlow?” The old man chortled coldly, “That’s rather distasteful, even by your standard.”
“What can I say?” Grian tilted his head, “I’m a vulgar man.”
“And what a shame for me to think you’d have the honor to vanish after what you’ve done.”
“What have I done?” Grian feigned surprise. “Which incident? Your honor, which patricide are you referring to? The recent one, I suppose?”
The old man fell silent.
“Oh, wait,” Grian stepped closer to him, hands behind his back. “You’re his friend, aren’t you? Oh, I remember now. That’s why you asked him for help, making you a widower as you wished.”
“Leave, Mr. Wardlow,” the old man spat out the words as he stepped away from the statue of the ancient king. “Before you cause any more trouble.”
Grian remained standing under the statue for a while. After the curator left the hall, Jimmy noticed the guests chattering again.
I heard he died, someone said.
What? Who is he?
No one should be your concern. I envy you; I truly do.
“It’s time, Jimmy,” the man at the center of attention grabbed his arm and urged him to move. “Remember, we’re here for something else?”
“Wait—” Jimmy responded, “are you really expecting me to scam someone here?”
“Yeah?” Grian said, turning to look at him. “You have a finance degree from UCL. You're a qualified scammer.”
“But I don't know anyone—”
“There are a bunch of my old acquaintances,” Grian interrupted him, “or why do you think they look at me strangely?”
“…Oh, yeah,” Jimmy grumbled, “and all of their former lovers ended up in Joel's stomach.”
“Uh-huh. Loved ones, relatives, and pointless enemies…” Grian pulled him forward. “Everyone has skeletons in their closets, and half of London’s skeletons lie in our bone pit.”
As their journey meandered through the tables, Grian encountered the horrified reactions of the guests. Whenever he waved or greeted familiar faces, silence and expressions of fear followed. In a playful but evidently cruel gesture, he even pulled some of their empty chairs as if to pretend to sit down. Out of the corner of his eye, Jimmy noticed someone starting to pray, which he found morbidly amusing.
The misfortunate table that Grian chose, dragging Jimmy along, was occupied by a lady and her partner. The woman was startled when Grian stopped by her table and greeted her. She shook her head in panic, grabbed her partner's arm, and started speaking French quickly.
“Oh, please,” Grian straightened his tuxedo as he sat down, and Jimmy chose to sit beside him, “Vous savez que je peux aussi parler français.”
She widened her eyes in terror and quickly whispered something to her partner in Flemish this time.
Grian sighed and interrupted her, “U weet dat ik ook Vlaams spreek. And how is the police going to help you, huh? Do you really want to confess to what you've done in a foreign country?”
This time, the woman sank into her seat in defeat. “What do you want, Mr. Wardlow?”
“Ah, right,” Grian said with a clap of his hands and a smile. “I’m here to offer you a deal since you’re such a great customer, Mr. Ó Briosáin!” He squinted his eyes at Jimmy, who understood the cue but was completely at a loss for what to do next. Sighing in defeat, Grian continued, “Ugh, fine… Do you know the foreign exchange rate?”
After receiving a nod from the confused woman, Grian continued confidently, “When you paid me with Franc, it made me think that I shouldn't limit myself and should diversify my business. I have some foreign clients who could benefit from smart investments. However, the current exchange rate is not favorable, and... well, the reason is…”
He glanced at Jimmy again, who eventually stepped in to prevent Grian from embarrassing himself. “Uh, yes. What he meant to say is that the economic changes resulting from the recent monetary policy implemented by the U.S. Federal Reserve to combat inflation are now having global effects. Well,” he smiled awkwardly at the woman, “it's the dollar.”
The woman chuckled, and so did her partner. Grian looked at them briefly and remained silent.
“But here lies the opportunity,” Jimmy found himself gaining a bit of confidence after receiving some positive reactions. “Since the Belgian Franc is so cheap right now, there’s no reason to keep your Sterling account hibernated. You should go all out—”
“We already did,” her partner said with a smile, “almost all out.”
Jimmy nearly smiled but quickly bit the inside of his mouth. He maintained a serious expression and said, “That was a bad idea.”
“…Pardon me?”
The woman furrowed her brow slightly.
“It’s going to drop even more very soon,” Jimmy continued, maintaining his expression. “You’re losing money just by holding onto nothing but Franc.”
”What? How could you know?” Her partner asked, leaning forward with questions that made Jimmy lean back in his seat and cross his arms.
“I have insider information,” said Jimmy. “I just met with the central bank representatives in a private meeting very recently. Would you like to hear about it?”
It ended on a positive note. He left with some cheques in hand, and a Grian who appeared much happier than usual. The couple had departed from the table shortly after, engaged in lively conversation in Flemish and seemed excited. By the time the main menu was served, the venue had returned to a joyful atmosphere. The curator went up to give a speech under the king’s statue. During the speech, a guest accidentally knocked over a flower vase, which even sparked some laughter among the attendees.
Jimmy glanced down at the cheques in his hands and quietly tucked them into his pockets. He found the meal unappetizing and pushed the dish away. Meanwhile, Grian observed the old man speaking, yawning as he poked at the ravioli on his plate with a fork.
“What’s the problem, Jimmy?” Grian quickly noticed his lack of excitement and turned to him. “You did it.”
“I did…” Jimmy spoke quietly, “I did what?”
“You’ve got what you wanted, haven't you.”
“…Grian,” he said, shifting his eyes to the other side, “I can't believe this is what you think I wanted. Is that your way of trying to cheer me up?”
Grian lowered his fork to the plate and took a long pause.
“I suppose you’re right. It should lift my spirits.” Jimmy said dryly. “I’m surrounded by the richest people in this country, dressed in fancy clothes and making deals. This is what I always wanted, isn't it?”
“Yeah?” Grian tottered his head.
“…Never mind… It’s nothing,” Jimmy muttered to himself. He raised his head toward the curator and noticed a figure walking past the artifacts beside the king’s statues, carrying a flower vase to his chest.
For a brief moment, he forgot how to breathe.
Among the well-dressed guests seated at the tables, paying attention to a seemingly pointless speech, was a man wearing a clean white shirt and a dark green apron. His dark brown hair was tied back in a short, low ponytail. He was just a florist, tending to a broken piece of floral decoration as part of his daily routine. Gently, he carried a vase filled with broken and misshapen orange blossom branches, carefully maneuvering around the tables and guests as he quietly walked past them.
Whatever was happening in this mockery of a dinner show was far removed from his small, simple, and tranquil world. He paused for a moment when the guests erupted into applause for the curator, and he looked at the branches in the vase before him. Their tops were adorned with small white flowers.
He buried his face in the disheveled flowers and took a whiff. A small smile appeared on his face.
After the curator concluded the speech, the gallery erupted into a symphony of sounds and chatter. The florist had quickly exited the venue and slipped into a dimly lit corridor beside the gallery hall.
Jimmy immediately stood up from his seat and squeezed through the tables, following the florist into the darkness. Grian called his name, but he didn't respond.
“Boss!”
He cried in the darkness. Sculptures of all kinds surrounded him, watching in silence.
“Boss!”
He yelled again and started running once more. The piano music gradually faded away.
He started to doubt himself.
That mustn't be real.
Whatever he saw, that wasn't real.
It’s just a phantom, a hallucination he experienced after a long evening surrounded by things that felt distant and were never parts of him. Perhaps he just wanted to see something that was familiar to him; that’s all.
There’s no other explanation.
He stopped running after a while, finding himself alone in the empty hallway of the gallery. He panted slightly, hugging his chest.
“Boss…”
The darkness gave him no response.
He laughed to himself.
“What am I doing?”
“Jimmy—”
This time, when he heard Grian's voice, he turned around.
“What in Lord's name are you thinking?!” Grian exclaimed, straightening his tuxedo and adjusting his cuffs after running. He was also panting slightly. “What did you see, Jimmy? A damn ghost?”
“…More or less,” Jimmy said softly, “I think I saw Joel.”
Grian frowned but chose not to say anything.
“I know he's here,” Jimmy continued. “We both knew, Grian. You brought him here, didn't you?”
“For safety measures,” Grian nodded and replied honestly, “I did. It’s part of my plan, in case something goes wrong.”
“You know where he is right now?”
Grian shrugged and said, "Not exactly. I just told him to find a way to sneak in."
“…Did you tell him to dress like that?” Jimmy asked, raising his voice again.
“Dress like what?” Grian laughed. “Why are you reacting like that, Jimmy? Did he come here naked—”
“Forget about it,” Jimmy interrupted, “and why didn’t you take him with us?”
Grian stopped smiling and looked at the guy with a curious expression on his face.
“He said he didn't want you to see him.”
“Why?”
“How could I know?” Grian protested at first, then added, “…Maybe he felt guilty for tearing up your degree.”
“Did he… Did he tell you?”
“No,” Grian said with a sigh. “But I can feel it. Maybe I’m getting better at this.”
Jimmy remained silent when he walked directly past Grian, prompting a few grumbles from him.
“What kind of magic spell did he cast on you, Jimmy?” Grian caught up to him and walked alongside him. “What is he wearing that made you act like this, first of all?”
“His…” From observing the artifacts around them, Jimmy caught glimpses of their reflections in the glass covers. “His old uniform.”
“As… A florist?”
Jimmy nodded and then stopped his walk. He saw something white on the floor under an exhibition case. He picked it up and found it was exactly what he expected.
It was a small petal from an orange blossom.
“Oh, so that's the disguise he chose,” he saw Grian’s reflection nodding. “Maybe it’s the only clothes he has lying around that aren’t all black.”
“…I guess,” said Jimmy, tossing the petal aside. “Should we just leave? I'm done for the night.”
“Are you really not interested in a free dinner?”
“It just doesn't seem as appetizing as…”
He held back from finishing his sentence.
“As Joel’s cooking?”
Grian spoke on his behalf and then pretended to gag.
“And you said you are curious about my relationship with him.”
“Grian,” he said wearily, “I'm not really in the mood for this..."
“Well, Jimmy,” Grian interrupted abruptly, fixing his gaze on a figure leaning against the wall at the end of the hallway. “Looks like someone hired a jester to cheer you up.”
The figure was turned away from the pair, watching the lively gallery hall while sipping a martini. The warm lighting from the diner party behind him illuminated the scene. The only thing that set this man apart from the other patrons was the small suitcase he held in his other hand.
Grian quickened his pace without explaining anything to Jimmy. Once Jimmy caught up with him, he understood why.
“After that, I returned to North London. There are a couple of great izakayas on High Road, and I spent a lot of time there. By the way, an izakaya is a kind of Japanese pub. We should all hang out together sometime—all four of us! Let’s get Joel on board!”
The man sitting across from them laughed loudly and took another sip of his martini. There weren't many guests left in the hall at this late hour, so his laughter went unnoticed. Leaning back in his chair, he swirled the drink in his hand, appearing somewhat tipsy. He wore a black suit with an open high collar shirt, and his dark green bow tie was carelessly draped around his neck. In contrast to his disheveled bow tie, his hair was tidy and styled, neatly parted. He wasn’t wearing a black bandana this time.
“I know your pet can't have any food there. What a shame. But we can all share some karaage and mock it together—”
“…Martyn,” Jimmy interjected, unable to hold back, “I asked you why you’re here and why you’re talking about a Japanese pub?”
“What?” Martyn exclaimed. “I thought you both wanted to know me better. And maybe you guys can stop being a trio and we can become a-a quartet? Is that the right word?”
“No, no… We definitely don't want to do that,” Jimmy said weakly. “Please, just tell us why you’re here.”
“Oh, right. Back to the topic! I found something interesting in the belongings of the guy I killed yesterday while I was drinking sake,” Martyn said, pulling out an invitation card from his inner pocket and sliding it across the table toward the pair sitting opposite him. “I thought to myself, ‘Wow, I would never have imagined getting into a place like this! I bet they have a fantastic menu and free martini.’ And voilà, here I am!”
“So, you’re here just for free food?” Jimmy asked him, incredulously. “That’s it?”
“Yeah? I definitely don’t want to get into any trouble tonight. Just let me have a day off.” Martyn snapped his fingers at a passing waiter and pointed at his empty martini glass. “Can I get a refill?”
“Marvelous, isn’t it?” Grian finally spoke, tapping his finger on the table while keeping his eyes on Martyn. He then raised his hand toward the waiter as well, saying, “Can I have what he’s having?”
“And? What brings you here, Grian?” Martyn rested his chin on his fist and leaned toward Grian. “Are you on duty?”
“Just like you, Martyn. I’m enjoying my free time,” Grian said with a smile on his face, “but I don’t need to steal a ticket to be here.”
Martyn leaned back in his seat as the waiter brought their martinis. “I heard you caused quite a stir when you entered,” he said, raising his glass toward Grian and taking a sip. “You weren't exactly invited either, were you?”
Grian burst out laughing. Jimmy noticed that Martyn’s grip on the martini glass tightened slightly.
“When would people like us ever get invited to anything, anyway?” Grian raised his glass towards Martyn as well. “You better get used to it; this isn't your old life anymore. You’re no longer welcome anywhere.” After taking a sip of his drink, he added, “I appreciate your work ethic as a newcomer, inspector.”
Martyn laughed at first, but soon his laughter stopped. Their table fell into an awkward silence.
“That was silly of me,” Martyn said dryly, still smiling and shaking his head. “Wasn’t it?”
“Oh,” Grian swirled his drink in the glass, watching the olive dance in it. “Which one? Which one of your mistakes?”
"You don't need to mock me, Grian," Martyn said, his smile fading slowly.
“But I’m actually quite enjoying it,” Grian set his martini back on the table and tilted his head. “How does the virgin martini suit your taste? You even untied your collar. Very committed to your performance, I see. The fake invitation was a bit too obvious, however. You used the wrong kind of ink. That’s my constructive criticism for you.”
Martyn let out a heavy sigh and rubbed his face. “Alright, alright… Could you please leave me alone so I can do my job, then, young Master Wardlow?”
“…What?” Jimmy narrowed his eyes at the disheartened man. “Are you working?” After receiving a reluctant nod from Martyn, who was still burying his face in his hands, he continued, “Who’s your target?”
“I can't find them anywhere…” Martyn lamented, resting his head on the table. “Grian, please—out of the kindness of your heart, did you see a Belgian couple around here?”
“…Uh…” Jimmy turned to Grian, who was poking the olive in his glass with a toothpick and grinning victoriously. Grian then gave Jimmy a nod, prompting him to continue, “They left early because… well, Grian and I made a deal with them.”
“You did?!” Martyn exclaimed, raising his head sharply. “How could that happen—”
“Be quiet, Martyn,” Grian raised the olive and studied it closely. “Now it’s my turn to ask a question. Who is your client?”
Martyn scratched the back of his neck and asked, "Do I really have to answer?"
“You stole mine while I was in recovery, didn’t you?” Grian lowered the olive and gave him an unease smile. “There are three people who might want them dead, and none of them have hired anyone else in the past.”
“It’s not my fault that your pet mauled you…” Martyn mumbled. “And of course, you had to show up to ruin my night, didn’t you? Do you know how long I spent tracking them for this chance?”
“I don’t know anything about your task, but—” Grian popped the olive into his mouth and continued, “You seriously wanted to do it right now? Causing an explosion in the British Museum? How naïve could you be?”
Martyn shifted his gaze from Grian, who was still chewing on the olive. "I have a plan, alright? I'm not as impulsive as you are."
“Nuh-uh,” Grian shook his head after swallowing the olive. “It’s called unpredictable. God, you really are such an amateur. You should just go back to being a bobby.”
Martyn appeared genuinely speechless, wearing a humorous expression, which felt quite unusual.
Just as Martyn was about to make a comeback, Grian abruptly wiped his mouth with a napkin and left the table. He walked directly back into the dark corridor without saying a word, prompting Jimmy to stand up in confusion.
“Grian—”
“Stay there, Jimmy!” Grian quickly said to him before he started running. “And don't accept anything from Martyn!”
“What does that supposed to mean?” Jimmy slumped back into the seat in defeat. Martyn, however, let out a laugh.
“Is Joel here?” he asked happily. “I can barely smell it; this place reeks of orange flowers.”
“Well, me too,” Jimmy replied. “I feel like my nose is blind at this point, but I still feel uneasy.”
“That’s your instinct indicating something is wrong. It’s not exactly a smell, let’s just say.” Martyn nodded. “Maybe one day I’ll tell you more about some of the top secrets if you’re really interested. But that’s a topic for another time.”
“You... will?” Jimmy blinked rapidly, and Martyn shrugged. “Why are you being so nice?”
“…I don't know,” Martyn laughed quietly to himself and looked back at his martini glass.
Jimmy watched him sipping his mocktail again. He was uncertain about what to say at first, but felt he should speak up.
“Uh… Martyn?”
“Yes?”
“Grian is… He’s just being a pain in the ass.” Jimmy said, unconsciously grasping the napkin on the table. “You can do many things he can't.”
Martyn lifted his gaze to Jimmy and remained silent for a considerable time, his face expressionless.
As Jimmy began to feel uncomfortable under the gaze, he took a few gulps. Suddenly, Martyn started laughing.
“You're right, Jimmy,” Martyn said in his usual frisky tone. “Thank you, kid.”
“What—” Jimmy jumped a little in his seat. “Just how old are you?”
“Not very, but… Uh—that’s definitely a topic for another day!”
Martyn suddenly stood up from his seat, horrified, as he faced a patron in the distance approaching the curator under the king’s statue.
“Huh?” Jimmy asked in confusion when Martyn quickly ducked behind his chair. “Who is that?”
“My old DCS!” Martyn exclaimed in desperation. “Why is she here? I thought she retired—wait, that’s exactly what retired people do!”
“DCS?” But Martyn ignored his question and quickly grabbed the suitcase that he had left untouched underneath their table for quite a while.
“You’re a kind person, Jimmy,” Martyn said when he shoved it onto Jimmy’s lap and opened it, then gave him a ruffle on the hair. “And that’s why you matter to them, isn’t it?”
“What?!” Jimmy tried to toss it away, but Martyn immediately grasped his hands tightly. “Martyn, what are you doing—”
“You better stay still. Even the slightest movement could detonate it,” Martyn said calmly when he stood up from the ground and dusted off his hands. He watched the red light blinking on the device inside the suitcase. “But just let me be impulsive for once. Oh boy, it feels so good. That’s why Grian does it, huh?”
Jimmy looked down at the blinking light on his lap. He then slowly raised his head toward Martyn, who gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder.
“I’m sorry, Jimmy.” Martyn stepped back and waved goodbye with a smile. “But I’m sure you’ll get through tonight. You always have someone by your side, don't you?”
Stay still.
Stay still.
He felt as if his heart was about to break. It pounded painfully in his chest. By this point, most of the guests had left, and only a few drunken individuals remained. As people walked past his table, no one paid him or this small suitcase any attention.
To everyone in this hall, he was just a lone stranger.
As the staff and waiters walked by him, he considered asking for help, but he hesitated.
If he involved the police, what benefit would it bring him?
Martyn must know it, too.
Then, what did he want me to do?
With each breath he took above the open suitcase, his lungs felt like they were about to collapse. Cold sweat dripped down his forehead, blurring his vision, but he couldn't take the risk to wipe it away.
Just wait.
Just wait for them.
Ironically, that blinking red light was the only thing keeping him sane. After what felt like an eternity, he found counting the blinks was all he had left in this world.
…
One hundred.
…
Two hundred.
…
Three hundred.
…
No one came to rescue me.
…
Four hundred.
…
Five hundred.
Some of the gallery hall’s lights had been turned off. The dazzling red light left a green mark on his retina.
…
Six hundred.
…
Seven hundred.
The pianist had left, leaving only the sound of drunken murmurs in the air.
…
Eight hundred.
…
Nine hundred.
…
Nine hundred and thirty.
Nine hundred and thirty-one.
Nine hundred and thirty-two.
Nine hundred and thirty—
“You can't keep running away like that, you moron!”
—Three.
He heard shouting coming from the dark corridor into which both Grian and Joel had disappeared.
The voice was getting closer.
“Alright, then. Let’s see how he’ll react to my apology.” He then heard a calmer voice respond, “Stop shouting.”
“Just—how difficult is it for you to say anything at all, Joel?”
He lifted his head from the device resting on his lap to look at the approaching pair.
“You know how much that piece of paper matters to him!”
“I know it matters, Grian,” said the man in a dark green apron as he stepped into the now dim hall. “Do you really think he's going to forgive me easily like…”
Then, he met the gaze of Jimmy.
“…Hey,” Jimmy forced a nervous smile, sweat trickling down his cheeks. “Boss.”
“I told you not to take anything from him!” Grian exclaimed, but he quickly lowered his voice. “So he…”
“Yeah.” Jimmy still held that awkward smile, “Why do you have to piss him off?”
“I wasn't trying to!” Grian exclaimed, raising his voice again. “It’s not my fault he can't handle criticism—”
“You know,” Jimmy said, lowering his eyes to the blinking light with a smile, interrupting Grian, “I actually don't mind it.”
“…Excuse me?”
Jimmy placed a hand on the small suitcase. He began gently caressing the black device inside.
“What is my life, anyway?” he chortled dryly. “Look at me—going to a party I wasn’t invited to, wearing clothes that don’t belong to me, just barely trying to survive among you monsters. And now I’m sitting here, waiting for you to save my life. I didn’t make this choice. I didn’t make any of them. It’s funny, really. But I can’t even laugh at my absurd fate, or this bomb would probably go off. Or… you can laugh at it for me.”
There was no laughter.
“…Please…”
He said, with a tear rolling down his stiff, smiling cheek.
“At least tell me that I’m entertaining, boss.”
…
His sore eyes were blurred by tears. The only thing he could see was the blinking light.
“Grian,” then, he heard a gentle voice, “you know how to diffuse it?”
He didn’t hear a response at first, but he noticed someone coming toward him.
“It’s made by Martyn,” another voice replied, “so it’s similar to the one used by the military... or, in this case, the Yard.”
“Alright, then,” he heard Joel’s voice above him, “tell me how to make it stop.”
“What?” Grian exclaimed. “But we don’t have any tools—”
“I’m using my hands,” Joel answered. “I was a florist. I know how to be delicate. And Grian,” he paused, “stay where you are and just tell me what to do.”
A brief silence lingered. Jimmy continued to stare at the blinking light, touching the device softly. He found that he couldn't form a cohesive thought.
Everything felt hazy and confusing, yet there was something oddly comforting about it.
“…Timmy?”
He felt a hand gently wiping away the tears from his eyes. The touch was warm but disrupted his comfort. However, it smelled of orange blossom, which was soothing.
“…Yes?” He laughed, watching the florist kneel in front of his chair. “What now, boss?”
He noticed a long-lost smile on the florist’s face. Those pupils were almost round in the dim lighting of the gallery hall.
“Take your hand off of it, Timmy,” said Joel, wiping the tears from his cheeks and gently taking his hand, which he did not try to resist. “You’re not dying here.”
“Why?” he asked, still chuckling softly as he let Joel lower his hand to his side.
“I know you don't want to,” Joel answered him.
“But what if I do?” he said, almost whining. “I’m tired, Joel. I just want to close my eyes—”
“You can't,” Joel interrupted. After a brief pause, he said, “I’m not letting you skip your shift again, Timmy. Sorry, but you’ve done that too many times.”
Jimmy bit his tongue.
Then, he smiled.
His smile must have looked terrible on his disheveled face.
“But-But you don't need to do this, boss,” he shook his head lightly. “I don't know when it will go off. Maybe you can't even survive this.”
“Of course I can't!” Joel protested, raising his hands and making an exaggeratedly shocked face. “I’m just a human!”
”You are?” Jimmy followed.
“What else can I be?” Joel seemed impatient with his question. He shifted his attention to the device, saying, “Timmy, did the uni make you dumber? There’s a black plastic cover on the top.”
“Lift the cover,” Jimmy heard Grian say in a steady, slow voice. “And tell me what you saw.”
“Then why are you doing this?” Jimmy watched the florist pick up the plastic cover and toss it to the floor. “Do you really want to die alongside me?”
“You're not going to die in my hands, Timmy,” Joel said as he gently moved the wires and components around. “It's written in the contract. You should read your contract more carefully next time you get a job, you know? Two red wires, three black ones, and a small white plastic cap in the middle. By the way, how's the job hunt going? I haven't seen you for a while and heard you graduated. Do you want to catch up with me?”
“Alright. Twist the white cap from left to right and lift it. You have to do it from left to right, Joel.”
“It’s going quite well,” Jimmy said. He felt pressure on his lap when Joel applied force to the device, but he managed to maintain his balance. “I got a job at J.P. Morgan. It’s very busy—I have meetings almost every day.”
“Oh, good for you!” Joel tossed the white cap aside. “And that’s why you got new clothes. I see. Why can’t I ever wear suits like you lucky bankers?”
“Now you need to cut all the black wires simultaneously. This will give you an electric shock, so be careful. But I know you can do it.”
“It’s not too late for you to change your career path,” Jimmy said, raising his eyebrows briefly. “But your shop seems to be doing well, I guess.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Joel muttered. Jimmy noticed that the hand on the wires trembled and paused for a moment. However, the florist’s voice stayed calm and steady. “A supplier sent me some rotting tulip bulbs, but I managed to keep most of them alive with some care. Nothing a good florist with a green finger can't fix. All done—what’s next?”
“Now slowly pull the cut-off wires out from right to left. Let me know if you see anything attached to their ends.”
“Joel,” Jimmy said, trying to suppress a laugh as he glanced at the suitcase, careful not to make it shake. “You can’t keep letting them get away with this. They’re scammers, and they deserve to face some consequences. You’re always too nice and naïve to run a business, and I keep telling you that.”
“But I figured it out. I kept them alive.” Joel shrugged slightly, his attention on the severed wires with electric flares still flickering. “Most of the time, they have their reasons for pulling a small scam like that. Maybe it’s a bad season or their storage got infested. You need to be kinder to them. There’s a battery connected to another wire that leads somewhere I can't see. People like you, Timmy, who think they’re big and important, should really learn something from normal folks like us.”
“Cut it off. Do it fast and clean. It’s going to give you an electric shock again.”
“Normal folks? Like you, Joel?”
This time, he saw the flare jolt outward from the hands of the florist, singeing the tips of his sleeves.
Once again, he felt tears rolling down his cheeks, but then he saw the familiar, silly smile of his old boss.
“Yes, Timmy. It’s actually quite hard to be a normal person.”
The florist wiped away the tear on his face again, this time smelling less of orange blossom and more of burnt fabric.
“Everyone must learn this eventually, no matter who they are. We all need to accept that life doesn't always meet our expectations, because it’s simply a part of being alive.”
Joel held the battery up toward Grian, who exhaled. The red light blinked one last time before fading away forever.
“It’s done,” Grian declared.
Jimmy collapsed into the chair, tossing the suitcase aside and gasping for air. He wiped his messy face roughly and then hugged his shoulders, shivering uncontrollably. He stared at the suitcase beside him, his eyes unable to blink.
He felt something wrapping around his chest, along with dark blonde hair brushing against his neck.
“Grian…” he attempted to push away from the tight hug, but Grian held on.
“…I’m sorry, Timmy.”
He heard a faint whisper from Grian.
“It’s all my fault. I'm sorry.”
“It’s…” he turned his eyes to the suitcase. “It’s fine. I know you tried your best.”
Grian hummed. He hugged Jimmy even tighter.
Joel raised his hands too, but he did not move forward.
“You can hug me if you want, boss,” Jimmy said with a tired smile. “You can't hurt me; you’re just a human, remember?”
Joel broke out a laugh. He wrapped his arms around Jimmy's shoulders and gave him a gentle hug.
“I suppose I am,” Jimmy heard the florist’s voice above his ear. “I’m sorry about your degree.”
“It’s not even your fault.” He patted Joel on the arm. “You’re right, boss. Maybe I just need to learn to accept things.”
“Like what?” Joel asked.
“Like the fact that you’re dead.”
Joel sounded surprised, “Am I?”
“Yes, and,” Jimmy let his hand slide, “there’s nothing wrong with that.”
Notes:
Artworks by @mi3-14 for Black and Red <3
https://www.tumblr.com/mi3-14/782486641959911424/art-for-ua-chap-10-chose-this-version-because-it
https://www.tumblr.com/mi3-14/781906943427198976/theres-spoilers-to-ua-chap-10
Chapter 12: Ghost Sextet
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
A low-frequency buzzing sound emitted by the heater reverberated in the base, while he lost himself in an Inspector Morse novel he had found among his old belongings. He had read the novel before and now recognized all the hints of plot twists as he re-read it out of boredom. Although the foreshadowing felt familiar, he found himself unable to remember the ending due to the mental fog he was experiencing.
After curling up on the loveseat and spending what felt like hours tossing tissues onto the floor, he flipped through the pages of his novel while wearing his new custard-yellow gloves. Suddenly, a cold winter wind slipped through the gap in the sliding door, causing him to shiver.
“Timmy?”
Grian squeezed himself through the partially rolled-up door, followed closely by Joel, who immediately lowered it afterward.
“Are you dead yet?”
“Not yet, thank you very much,” he replied with a very stuffy nose, blowing into another tissue. The tip of his nose and his lips were cracking, which hurt a lot. “Did you all buy a thermometer as you promised?”
“Do you really need that?” Grian asked, throwing a few items onto his blanket: a thermometer in its case, a bottle of paracetamol, and something ice-cold wrapped in a towel. “It’s just a cold. Stop overreacting,” he added, “You've been this way all day.”
“But he might have a fever.” Joel offered him a hand to help him sit up, which he appreciated. “These things aren't contradictory, Grian.”
“Oh, look at you,” Grian said, rolling his eyes, “knowing so much about the human body.”
Joel simply shrugged in response.
“What is this?” Jimmy ignored their banter and grabbed the towel. Just then, Grian snatched the towel from him and pressed it against his forehead with force, prompting Jimmy to yell, “Grian! It’s too cold!”
“Hold onto it,” Joel ordered while Grian was laughing wickedly. He sat down beside Jimmy on the loveseat and searched for the thermometer. “It’s the best we can do; we couldn't find anything else.”
“Here’s some free snow I packed for you,” Grian said, leaving the towel on Jimmy’s head after giving it a firm pat. He glanced at the loveseat for a moment but decided to sit on the carpet in front of them instead. It was brand new, a purchase Jimmy made with the fortune he had recently acquired, along with some additional accessories to make the place more comfortable. Grian held up a small bottle of coughing syrup, raising it toward Jimmy. “Want a sip?” he asked.
“I’m not coughing right now,” Jimmy replied, gripping the towel. “Well, maybe save it for me…”
Before he could finish his words, Grian had already opened it and started drinking.
“What?” He lowered the bottle and shot Jimmy a defensive glance. “It’s sweet. It’s basically a snack.”
Jimmy let out a deep breath and said nothing; it was simply too exhausting to deal with at that moment. He slowly closed his eyes when Joel began waving the thermometer around, wondering if Joel might accidentally break it in half with his strength and release the mercury, potentially poisoning them all—
He didn't realize he had fallen to the side until his head bumped into some soft fabric. He opened his eyes and found the sunglasses looking down at him from above.
“…I’m sorry, Joel…” he mumbled, attempting to get up from Joel’s lap but failing miserably. He noticed that the thermometer had awkwardly stopped in mid-air and then decided to shift his gaze to Grian, who was still sipping cough syrup and returning the look with a humorous expression. “I’m just… I’m just not feeling too well.”
“Yeah, it’s too bloody obvious,” Joel replied, sounding displeased as he waved his wrist again. “Just stay here, then. Can you use the thermometer, or do I really have to place it for you?”
“N-no, maybe not…” He tried to lift himself off Joel’s lap once more. Still unsuccessful, he fell back onto the soft fabric. “Joel,” he sighed, squeezing his eyes shut, “could you please help me out?”
“You don't like it?” Grian lowered the bottle to the floor and remarked, “Isn’t that your favorite boss?”
The words definitely had an impact. Joel immediately threw Jimmy away, not very gently.
“Joel!” he protested, clutching his shoulder where Joel had grabbed. “It hurts! I’m already having a terrible day!”
Joel smoothed the fabric on his lap while Grian laughed, muttering, “…I didn't mean to.”
“It’s okay…” Jimmy took the towel and pressed it to his forehead again. “I know you—”
“I’m sorry, Tim,” Joel said quickly and softly, and kept staring at his lap.
Jimmy clutched the towel tightly, blinking slowly as his mind went blank.
“Whoa,” Grian tapped his chin. A smile emerged on his face. “So it's not hard for you to say sorry at all. It just has to be Jimmy.”
Joel pressed his lips together while Jimmy finally snapped out of his absent-mindedness from that gentle apology and sank into his seat in defeat. "Grian, what's your issue?"
“What?” Grian twisted the cap closed and placed the bottle on the floor. He shifted his eyes to the off-screen television, saying loudly, “I was just messing with you. God, you people are no fun.”
Jimmy stole a quick glance at Joel, who was doing the same.They both chose not to say anything.
Things had been odd recently. At first, they returned from the terrible night at the museum together and these two even stayed at the base with Jimmy for a while until he fell asleep. However, the next morning, Jimmy sensed a change in the air. It could have been the sound of an egg being cracked too forcefully when Joel was making omelets, or it might have been a wrong note that Grian played while practicing his violin. While Joel just seemed somewhat awkward around him, it was Grian who consistently made random jabs during their interactions.
It wasn't enjoyable to have someone commenting on your life every single day. A week almost went by until he woke up with an aching throat this morning, and the strange atmosphere still hadn't improved.
“I bet you’d drink my cough syrup if Joel offered it,” Grian kept saying, still facing away from them. “Too bad I can't bake cookies for you or wash your dirty clothes.”
“Wha—Joel didn't wash my clothes—”
He turned sharply toward the guy, who quickly covered his nose tip with the scarf and remained silent.
“You did?!”
He shouted in disbelief.
“You are the one who washed my shirt?!”
“It’s been on the floor for days,” he heard Joel’s hesitant voice from beneath the scarf. “I keep stepping on it, and it’s really frustrating me.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Grian said, obviously bitter. “Where do you think the laundry detergent comes from, huh? Because he did his hand washing. God, Joel, you disgust me.”
“What!” Joel exclaimed, “Have you never done your laundry before? Stop making a fuss about it.”
“You’re washing another guy’s clothes by hand! Do you not see the problem here?”
“It's just a shirt! I didn't even know who it belonged to!”
Grian shot him a dirty look and said through clenched teeth, “You never wash my clothes.”
“What are you talking about?!” Joel lowered the scarf from his face. “When did you ever leave your shirt on the bloody floor?”
“Oh, so you did know it belonged to Tim,” Grian said with a cold laugh.
Joel pulled the scarf over his face again and said, “Shut up before I make you.”
“…Joel—” Jimmy pulled the towel away from his forehead. “Stop arguing with him; you know how he is.”
“How. He. Is?” Grian articulated each word clearly while slowly turning his gaze to Jimmy, which made him shiver. “I think you’ve forgotten your place, Jimmy.”
“What?!” Jimmy raised his voice. “How could you say that to me right after I brought you so many Hershey's bars yesterday?”
“I don't even like chocolate that much,” Grian said, crossing his arms and looking to the side.
“I can still see the chocolate stain on your jumper!”
Grian began taking off his clothes almost immediately.
“What are you doing?!” “Grian…”
The two on the loveseat both wailed in disbelief at the same time.
Grian, however, showed no signs of slowing down. His voice was muffled beneath the fabric. “Alright, then! Let’s see who’s going to clean it—”
He didn't get to finish, however, as Joel had gotten on the carpet with him and held his arms still.
“Stop it, Grian.” Joel pulled the fabric down from his face while Grian tried to push him away but failed. Clenching Grian’s wrists, he said, “What do you want, huh? Do you really want me to hand wash your jumper?”
“Uh-huh,” Grian grumbled, turning his face away from Joel. “I’m tired of washing my clothes all the time anyway.”
Joel lowered his hands. After seemingly battling with himself for a while, he reluctantly reopened his mouth and said, “I will if it’s going to make you stop.”
Grian stared at him, while the eyes beneath the sunglasses clearly tried to avoid that glare.
“Do you want me to stop?” he suddenly asked, but Joel showed no reaction. So, he continued, “No, you want me gone.”
“Don’t be stupid,” Joel muttered quietly, keeping his head down.
“Grian…” Jimmy said weakly. He felt dizzy again. “It’s-It’s just a shirt! It doesn't mean anything!”
Grian quickly glanced at Jimmy in response. Just as Grian seemed ready to say something, he stopped himself. Instead, he stood up from the carpet and walked straight to the door without looking back. He grabbed his beige trench coat from the standing coat rack that Jimmy had bought and reached for the door handle.
“See ya.”
“Come on…” Jimmy tried to stand up from the loveseat but immediately sat back down as a coughing fit seized him. During this time, a cold wind blew through the rolled-up door, quickly vanishing once Grian let the door crash onto the concrete floor.
Then he heard the roaring engine of a Suzuki. Joel stood up from the carpet and walked toward the rolling door without saying a word.
“Wait…” Jimmy called out when the coughing had stopped, “Are you going with him?”
Joel nodded and grabbed his coat from the rack, knocking it down in the process. He bent to pick it up and mumbled under his breath, “He can catch a cold like you. That moron.”
“Is that really the best you can say?” Jimmy said dryly. Joel said nothing but seemed pretty determined. His hand was already on the handle when Jimmy hesitantly said, “…Fine. Take me with you.”
Joel pulled his hand back, remaining silent.
“I don't trust you with him,” Jimmy said aloud and picked up the half-empty syrup bottle from the floor, opening it. “Well, I suppose I don't trust him with you either.” After taking a sip, he added bitterly, “Maybe I shouldn't even trust myself.”
It wasn't snowy anymore, but the wind felt colder than he expected, despite wearing several layers of clothing under the peacoat their target had gifted him. He held onto Joel tightly as the biker maneuvered through the busy evening traffic toward Tower Hamlets under a cloudy night sky. Like the rest of East London, the streets were filled with construction vehicles eager to unload. The road was uneven and very bumpy, and the gray slush everywhere didn't help either.
They had lost track of Grian not long ago, who had finally achieved his goal of getting rid of them after a long chase. Joel's patience was clearly wearing thin, and Jimmy could see that he was becoming less concerned about traffic safety with every passing second.
“You really should wear a helmet,” Jimmy said to him through the helmet of his own. “It’s quite busy. We might run into some cops.”
“I don’t have one,” Joel took a sharp turn to overtake the truck beside them, causing the driver behind the wheel to blare their horn.
“What? Just wear the one you had when you were—”
Jimmy stopped himself from finishing. In return, Joel laughed and increased the speed slightly, saying, “So he told you.”
“Y-yes?”
“Were you surprised, then?”
Jimmy rested his head lightly on Joel's shoulder and nodded, wishing that Joel could feel the gesture.
“Why? Is it because I don't appear to be that kind of person?”
“…Yeah?” Jimmy swallowed nervously. “You seemed… If I had to guess your hobby when I was still your clerk, I’d say you were probably into collecting garden gnomes.”
He heard another laugh in response. “That's what you'd expect from a florist.”
Jimmy contemplated for a moment before resting his head on the biker’s shoulder. “Was it all fake, then?”
“At the museum?”
Jimmy hummed.
“Were you being ingenuine when you were nice to your grandparents on Christmas?”
“What? Of course not…” his voice quietened. The bulky helmet was causing him discomfort, and his nose was stuffed again. “It's the holiday season; you should be joyful and sweet.”
He didn't get a response.
“So it’s just…” Jimmy continued, “You were just acting.”
He felt the biker shrug his shoulders a little. “But you liked it, didn't you?”
He nodded.
“Then what’s the point?” Joel asked.
“Of what?”
“Of this conversation.”
Jimmy squeezed the fabric on the biker’s coat underneath his palms.
“Frankly, Joel, I don’t like it,” he told Joel, “because now I know you were lying.”
“It wasn't fake,” Joel replied calmly, “I was acting, but I wasn't lying.”
“Right… Of course.” Jimmy whispered, mostly to himself. “…Was Grian right about you all along?”
“Really, Timmy?” But Joel certainly heard him and started to chortle. “Was I really that mean to you?”
“You were quite harsh to him…” Jimmy sighed. “Why do you always act that way around him, then? Was it all a lie, too?”
“I said I’m not lying…” Joel’s voice softened slightly. “Would it make you feel better if I said I was?”
“Joel,” he lamented, “you can't keep treating people like this. It always feels… backhanded.”
Joel paused for a moment.
Then, he muttered, “I just don't want to upset anyone.”
“Wait, do you think that will make people less angry with you?”
Joel nodded.
“So… When you said you are willing to wash his clothes, is it just because you don't want to upset him?”
Another nod.
“Do you really think that's how it works?” Jimmy exclaimed. “Why did you give him that stun gun? What even was that?”
“I don't want him to be scared of me.” Joel mumbled, “I told him already.”
“But I’m not scared of you, Joel. And it wasn't because I have a stun gun. Don't you find that contradictory?”
“That’s because you’re Timmy and he's not,” Joel replied with no hesitation.
“Joel…” Jimmy squeezed his eyes shut. “You almost killed him! Do you really think giving him a self-defense tool solves this problem?”
Joel shrugged.
Jimmy felt like slapping himself on the forehead.
“Could you explain to me…” Jimmy rested his head on Joel’s shoulder again. “Why did you attack him in the first place? What were you thinking?”
“He was being annoying.”
“That’s it?!" Jimmy exclaimed once more, giving him a pat on the chest from behind. "Is that really your answer?
Joel didn’t respond.
Jimmy lowered his hand in defeat. “Why did you take a job at a construction site, then?”
“He spent a lot of money on my sunglasses. I need to earn money to repay him.”
“Then why didn't you tell him?” Jimmy asked, raising his volume. “Why? Huh? Why?”
“It’s…” Joel's voice nearly dropped to a whisper. “It’s too embarrassing.”
“I… what?” Jimmy said, feeling a headache coming on. He wasn’t sure if it was from the cold or simply caused by talking to Joel. “I just… I can't understand what you're saying anymore, Joel,” he murmured. “Sometimes I feel like you are just taking the easy way out. Other times, it seems like you are losing your mind…”
Joel didn't answer.
Jimmy stared at the old, grimy street that sped by beneath their tires. He said slowly, "I can't tell anymore. Maybe it's because I'm too sick."
“Alright then,” Joel replied, returning to his normal demeanor instantly. “You need a rest stop. Do you want something to eat?”
“But Grian…”
“He will be fine,” Joel said with a sigh. “No one in London can harm him besides me, so it seemed.”
“No, you don’t understand… Gosh, you’re such a moron, Joel,” Jimmy grumbled, but he didn't protest when Joel pulled the Yamaha to the side of the street. “Go find me a corner shop then…”
“Why do you need a corner shop?” Joel asked as he resumed moving the bike. “Jimmy, you really shouldn’t smoke—”
“No! Not for cigarettes…” Jimmy said weakly. “I'm buying Grian some crisps as an apology gift.”
“He doesn't need—”
“Quiet, boss.” Jimmy patted his chest once more. “You really know nothing about him.”
The first thing he did after he stopped into the tiny shop was look for a tissue box for himself and grab a bag of crisps for Grian. Soon after, he made his way to the checkout, where he noticed Joel was already there, staring at the cigarette display. The cashier had been engaged in a phone conversation since they entered the shop, and Joel was waiting patiently in front of the counter.
“Yes, yes. Come and pick me up,” the young man, who appeared to be around Jimmy's age, said into the phone. He flicked a pencil between his fingers, tapping its tip repeatedly against the glass counter. “Oh, come on! I’m your pal, remember? …Hey! Don’t say things like that!”
“Uh,” Jimmy shoved Joel aside, who seemed determined to wait there politely for an eternity, and placed the items on the counter. “Good evening. Could you…”
“Hold on a moment,” the young man said, lowering the phone to his shoulder as he rolled his eyes at his customers. “Yes? How may I assist you? Oh, you want me to do my job.” He then leaned closer to the phone and whispered, “Just come and pick me up. Yes. Yes. Right now.”
After hanging up the phone, the cashier adjusted his red baseball cap, which had the shop’s logo on it, and stood up. He forced a strange smile as he began to scan the items. When Joel asked him for a pack of Marlboro cigarettes, he gasped audibly.
“You can smoke?!”
“…Yes?” Joel said, a little confused.
“You—you,” the cashier glanced between the cigarette display and the customer in front of him. “You can smoke? But you—Oh god, of course! Why didn't I think of this sooner?”
“…Excuse me?” Jimmy paused his unpacking on the tissue box and responded alertly.
The cashier quickly grabbed the cigarette pack that Joel requested and scanned it. He handed them to Joel while glancing at the door to what appeared to be the storage room, yelling, “Boss! That’s my shift!” After receiving a disgruntled acknowledgement, he turned to the pair and said, “Let’s talk outside, shall we?”
The cashier had taken his backpack from underneath the counter and quickly started pushing him and Joel toward the entrance. Jimmy cleared his stuffy nose with a tissue with a bag of crisps underneath his arm, saying to the guy, “What’s your problem?”
“I have a friend just like you,” the cashier whispered while poking his finger on Joel’s arm. “He eats people.”
“Wait, what?!” Jimmy raised his voice as he was pushed out of the shop. “Your—”
“Yeah?” The cashier peeked at Jimmy beneath his cap and stepped out of the shop as well. “He had a slightly fruitier smell than yours—less pungent and less floral. God, I spent so much time with that bastard that I can even tell the difference between these odors.”
“But how-how could you act so calm—”
“What do you want me to do, scream like a little girl?” The cashier interrupted him, sounding impatient. “Look, I work at a corner shop, and I’ve seen some of your kind hanging around. You’re the first one I’ve seen smoking, though.” He poked Joel again, which made Joel step away from him. “Oh, come on! By the way… How have you managed to avoid the hunters for so long while keeping yourself fed?”
“Uh…” Jimmy exchanged a glance with Joel, who remained fairly expressionless as usual. “You promise you won’t call the police?” After receiving an eager nod from the young man, he continued, “We have a friend who’s sort of… a hitman. He’s already killing people, so…”
“Ah, lucky!” the cashier grunted, adjusting the straps of his backpack. “We have to figure out so much on our own just to feed him—well, I guess it's mostly for me. We were just a bunch of law-abiding citizens before this.”
“So you’re just by yourself? I mean, alongside with…” Jimmy eyed Joel up and down. “You know.”
“No. There’s this other guy.” The cashier shrugged. “And his filthy rich. He owns a business and has a bloody trust fund,” the cashier said with an exaggerated eye roll. “He hired my friend to be his driver a while back because he was unemployed. Nice guy. Really helpful. Giving us supplies and even bribing the police.”
“Why are you two helping him?” Joel asked while tapping out a cigarette. “He can't do any good for you.”
“Oh, come on!” the cashier yelled. “That’s our friend! What else should we do, then? Let him rot?”
“Heh.” Joel lit the cigarette. “You’re much kinder than mine.”
“But he killed people for you,” the young man leaned in closer and blinked, “didn't he?”
“No, he didn't,” Joel said, taking a puff of smoke. “He’s just using me as a tool.”
“Please, Joel…” Jimmy blew his nose into another tissue. “Just ignore him; they just had a fight.”
“Oh—” The young man stepped away from Joel, his eyes wide. “That’s fair. We fight constantly, too. Sometimes, I felt like he would kill me just because he was in a bad mood.”
“I wasn't in a bad mood…” Joel grumbled, flicking off some ashes.
“You look like you’re always in a bad mood,” the young man said with a laugh. “It’s understandable, though. Everyone would be grumpy if they were turned into a cannibalistic monster.” After an exaggerated sigh, he added, “but maybe not me.”
“What, you want to be one?” Joel asked mockingly, but the cashier nodded with sincerity.
“Then I can help him a lot better,” the cashier replied. “Or at least understand him more. I just don’t want him to suffer alone. Maybe that’s how I can finally calm him down. But he refuses to turn me, no matter how many times I beg.”
“…Turn…you?”
Jimmy stood there with his mouth open.
“Yes…?” The cashier tilted his head, then looked back and forth between Joel and Jimmy, gasping, “You didn't know? He never told you?”
Jimmy glanced at Joel, who looked down at his burning cigarette tip.
“He was turned by someone else,” the young man pointed at Joel, “and of course he could turn someone too.”
“What?” Jimmy raised his eyebrows and asked Joel. “Is he-Is he telling the truth?”
Joel remained silent.
“Well,” Jimmy said as he pulled out another tissue and wiped his nose. “I can't wait for Grian to find out that you’re lying to him again.”
“Timmy…” Joel lowered the cigarettes and said with a frown.
“Ah, it’s getting awkward,” the young man laughed out loud, breaking their interaction. He quickly shifted his attention to an incoming black Aston Martin, which flashes its headlights at the cashier. “My friends are here!” He unzipped his backpack and pulled out something, turning it on and aiming it at Joel. “Say cheese!”
After a flashlight startled Joel, the young man immediately began sprinting toward the car. The car door was open, and a man in a champagne-colored suit waved his arm enthusiastically with a broad grin. Beside him sat the driver, dressed in a black uniform and peaked cap, who wasn’t paying attention to their approaching friend.
“Thank you for the portrait!” the young man shouted to them before he squeezed himself into the back seat behind the businessman.“Goodbye! Good luck surviving!”
The door slammed shut immediately, and they drove away with a sharp turn that made the tires squeak.
Joel stepped forward and watched the taillight of the Aston Martin fade as it turned at the crossroads. He quickly went straight to his Yamaha and got on.
“Huh? What are you going to do?” Jimmy followed him and got on the bike as well, though he was still puzzled by everything about that encounter.
“I’m getting that photo back,” Joel lurched the motorcycle forward, prompting Jimmy to grab onto him immediately. “Get your helmet on, Tim.”
“What? Why?” Jimmy panicked as he put on the helmet. “Joel, we should really go find Grian. Why do you—”
“It’s too ugly.”
Joel said firmly.
“What?!”
“It’s too ugly.”
Joel repeated.
The evening traffic in Tower Hamlets didn't slow any of them down. The driver had clearly noticed that they were being pursued, and the black car took several drastic measures at intersections, slithering around incoming construction vehicles to shake off the motorcycle, causing chaos on the street.
As they narrowly avoided an oncoming truck, car horns blared loudly enough to hurt Jimmy’s eardrums. He clung to Joel’s torso with all his strength. “Joel! You don’t have to do this!”
He felt his knee strike something. It was a plastic traffic cone that had been knocked over by the bike’s front tire.
Joel wasn't slowing down.
“Just—What are you thinking, Joel?”
Jimmy shouted to be heard above the sound of car horns and the gusts of wind.
“Did you actually just lose your mind? Joel, please just listen to me for once—”
The biker dodged cars one after another, leaning their bike at angles too close to the ground for Jimmy's comfort.
“Why are you like this? …Were you always like this?”
…
“I don't feel safe with you anymore. I don't know who you are or-or what you are.”
He spoke in a quieter voice because his throat was aching.
“Actually, I would feel much safer if I’m with Grian,” he said. “And I can't believe I just said that.”
…
“We need to find him. He’s still out there, angry with us. God knows where he is... I’m kind of worried, but I'm definitely more concerned about you crashing the bike and sending me straight to heaven.”
…
He tightly grasped the fabric that covered Joel’s chest.
“Still not stopping, huh?”
…
“What are you trying to escape from, Boss?”
…
The tail light of that Aston Martin was still in the distance, but Jimmy slowly realized they weren't getting any closer.
“You know,” he decided to keep talking despite his hurting throat. “No matter how fast you go, something will eventually catch up with you.”
…
“Even worse,” Jimmy continued, “he might call you a monster again.”
…
He noticed that the bike was losing speed.
“How did you and him meet each other?” Jimmy decided to ask the biker again, trying to sound composed and calm this time.
At first, Joel didn’t pay much attention to the inquiry. Therefore, Jimmy said aloud, “Was he your blind date?”
Joel braked the bike.
“What the hell?” He briefly turned back to Jimmy, panting, before speeding up once more. “Shut up, Tim. You’re not doing this to me again.”
Jimmy was applying all his weight onto Joel’s back after the brake. His chest hurt a lot, but he had no regrets. Smiling from beneath his helmet, he said, “It worked both times. Are you going to tell me the story or not?”
“I’ve told you everything.”
“No, you didn't,” Jimmy said, leaning away slightly. “Where did he find you, first of all?”
“On the street.”
“Alright, then. Where was it?”
“I don't know. Not at Camden.”
“How could you not know?” Jimmy poked him on the shoulder. “You don't know where you were?”
“I...” Joel loosened his grip on the handle slightly. “I don’t, Jimmy. I just... don’t.”
“How so? You forgot about it?”
“Not really,” Joel said. “I didn't really know where I was at the time.”
“Well...” Jimmy sighed, “then tell me everything else you know.”
“Why should I?”
Jimmy wanted to yank his hair out, but the helmet prevented him. He had to resort to another idea and decided to say aloud, “On a lovely evening at an Italian restaurant, you met a cute blonde guy—”
“Bloody hell! Shut up!” Joel shouted at the top of his lungs. “Fine. Fine!” And his voice immediately turned into a whisper. “It's during the first few days when I decided to leave everything behind. There was a light rain, typical for November. I was traveling all around London, thinking I was trying to find somewhere to hide myself, but…”
Joel chuckled to himself and shook his head.
“All I could think about was how hungry I was. I was starving, Tim. Every second there was someone around me, I could feel myself slowly turning into a threat. I had to keep my distance from people during the day as soon as I realized it. One night, when I finally had the courage to harm someone, I saw…”
Joel stopped talking right after.
“You saw?” Jimmy followed, patting him on the chest.
“He was standing deep in a dark alleyway, staring at me from the shadows. You know what he's like; he doesn't have the most welcoming presence,” Joel uttered quietly. “He didn't scream or run away. Instead, he asked me what I was doing. I said I was eating. He asked if I would get sick from eating things like that. I said no.”
It made Jimmy giggle a little. Joel went on.
“Then he stepped out of the alleyway and stood under the streetlamp with me. I saw that he was covered in blood, just like I was. He told me, ‘You are such an amateur.’ I nodded, and he said…”
Joel took a breath.
“Do you want to come with me?”
He muttered.
“There will always be something to satisfy your appetite in my world.”
Afterward, he fell silent.
Uncertain about what to say, Jimmy noticed the biker lift a hand from the handle and wipe something from his face.
“Are you… alright?” asked Jimmy.
“Sands got into my eyes,” Joel said.
“You’re wearing sunglasses, Joel.”
“I know. It’s odd,” Joel said dryly, sniffing. “I don't want to talk about it.”
“Yeah,” Jimmy whispered. “It is. Maybe we should head back so you can get it out. You know… Maybe he’s already at the base, waiting for us.”
Joel didn’t say anything; instead, he began to make a U-turn.
Jimmy smiled beneath his helmet.
The Aston Martin had long disappeared from their sight, but none of them mentioned it. Jimmy decided to stay silent for a while after that, feeling it wasn't necessary to say anything. His hands were icy cold from the air, even beneath his gloves. He opted to tuck his hands into his sleeves, but still held onto Joel tightly.
He glanced around the area of the city they were passing through. He couldn't recognize any of the buildings or streets, and the view of the decaying old structures was far from charming. As he observed the few pedestrians on the sidewalk, he wondered what their reactions might be to the chaotic chase that had just occurred—
Then, he noticed a man in a beige trench coat standing next to a red Suzuki, talking to a police officer. The man was waving a ticket in his fist.
“Joel!” he exclaimed, patting the biker on the stomach and pointing a finger at the man in the distance. “That’s him! That’s him!”
“Huh?” Joel turned in the direction and immediately slowed their motorcycle, grunting, “For God’s sake...”
As they approached, Jimmy began to overhear the conversation they were having.
“You cannot ride your motorcycle on public streets without a license. Is that clear?”
And it didn't seem to go well.
“I said I left it at home!” Grian argued with reddened cheeks.
“I would let you go this time—if you weren't going seventy kilometers per hour in a forty zone!”
“I was trying to catch up with someone! It wasn't my fault!” Grian stepped closer to the officer, whose face was now even redder than his. “And stop throwing your stupid metric system at me!”
“Alright,” the officer grasped the handle of his Suzuki, “It’s coming with me. Pay your fine if you ever want to see it again.”
“Hey! That’s mine! How dare you—” Just as Grian was about to grab the man and throw punches at a literal police officer without a care in the world, Jimmy quickly jumped off the Yamaha and hugged him from behind to restrain him. “Who the hell is grabbing me?! Let me go!”
“Grian!” Jimmy yelled desperately. “For the love of God, calm down!”
“…Tim?” Grian turned to him and stopped struggling immediately. A smile emerged on his face, but Grian quickly hid it away. “You managed to find me. How impressive.”
“Yeah… what a coincidence,” Jimmy said dryly. He let go of Grian and removed his helmet. “Were you trying to—”
“Wait,” the officer holding the Suzuki turned his attention to Joel, who was still on the Yamaha. “Where is your helmet?”
Joel initially turned toward the pair, then back to the officer. Awkwardly, he said, “I left it... at... home?”
“Alright,” the officer released the Suzuki and stepped toward the Yamaha, placing a firm hand on the handle. “Get out of it, lad. It’s coming with me, too.”
“What?!” Grian raised his hands over his head while Joel reluctantly got off his bike, sighing disheartenedly. “How are you going to take two motorcycles at once?”
“None of your business!” the officer exclaimed, dragging the Yamaha alongside the Suzuki. He tried to push both handlebars at once, but it was clearly a difficult task for him, and he struggled to keep both motorcycles balanced. Grian couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight, earning a nudge from Joel.
Then, the three of them watched in silence when the officer slowly pushed their precious bikes away.
Once the officer was farther away, cursing loudly after one of the bikes nearly fell on him, Grian was the first to speak.
“My bike…”
He said quietly, his voice trembling. He appeared to be on the brink of tears, with moisture gathering in his eyes.
“Is it possible for you to just pay your fines?” Jimmy asked. “Is that still an option?”
“I've been dead since 1971,” Grian said flatly, trying to hold back tears.
“I’ve been missing since 1980,” Joel grumbled.
“Never mind.” Jimmy pinched the bridge of his nose. “Well, we better head back and think of something.”
“I’m not,” Grian immediately rejected, stepping back. “Leave me alone. God, you people are so clingy…”
“Where are you going, then?” Jimmy asked. Grian shook his head and stepped further away. “Grian—come on! I know we did something wrong… I just don't know what it is… yet…”
Grian turned to the side and shrugged, his expression bitter.
“And…” Jimmy shot a few quick glances at Joel. “Joel misses you too.”
Joel crossed his arms and gazed at the ground.
“Joel—” Jimmy exclaimed, “Gosh, you’re literally killing me—”
“I'm sorry,” Joel suddenly said, lifting his head. “I'm sorry, Grian.”
“Ah, guess who’s getting desperate—”
Grian’s taunt was interrupted when Joel stepped closer, stopping directly in front of him.
“What?” Grian asked, pulling a smile slowly. “What will you do then?”
Joel lowered his arms, but he still held onto his elbow.
“Why are you apologizing?” Grian chortled, but his nervousness was evident. “Tell me. Explain to me why you need to apologize like a normal person—”
Joel suddenly wrapped his arms around Grian in a tight hug.
It was a constricting hug that startled Grian. His voice was muffled against Joel’s shoulder as he shouted loudly. However, Joel didn't release him; he just hugged Grian tighter, ignoring his struggles.
“Joel—” Jimmy shouted but then hesitated, lowering his hand before he reached out toward them.
“Let go of me!” Grian shouted audibly, finally managing to free himself a little. “You’re hurting me, you monster!”
Joel simply shook his head in response but didn't let go of what he was holding.
Seeing no sign of being freed by Joel, Grian reached into one of his pockets. After searching for a moment, he pulled out a folding knife and flicked the blade open.
Without hesitation, he plunged it into Joel's arm.
This time, Joel finally let him go.
He ignored his wound and simply watched Grian take a few steps back, panting heavily.
“You’re not doing this to me,” Grian said after catching his breath and throwing the knife to the ground. “Who do you think I am, God damn Timmy?”
Jimmy held his forehead, shook his head, and kept silent. It prompted Grian to throw him a glare. “Really, Jimmy? You actually see no problem with what he just did?”
“I don't know,” Jimmy murmured. “I just don't…”
Grian hummed. He glanced at Jimmy and Joel apathetically one last time before turning his back to them.
“I’m heading home,” he said as he walked away. “You should take a taxi, Tim. You still have a cold.”
They watched him walk down the street without looking back. After he disappeared around the corner, Jimmy shifted his gaze to the folding knife on the floor.
After he picked it up and stared at the blood-stained blade, Joel bowed his head and looked at the pavement before him. After a long pause, Joel spoke two words softly.
“…My bike.”
Jimmy ordered a taxi for them to return to their base, following Grian's instructions. He sat in the cramped cabin, staring at the man across from him. He glanced down at the bag of crisps he had bought for Grian, now crumpled from their earlier chase. Meanwhile, Joel leaned against the car window, remaining silent while watching the scenery fly past them.
“I think I've made up my mind,” Jimmy grumbled. “Maybe you did go crazy. I don't know what kind of toxin that immortality has brought you, but you’re just insane.”
“I’m not,” Joel uttered.
“You are, Joel, you are,” Jimmy said bitterly. “Did you really think that would bring him back? One moment I thought you finally understood, and the next, you’re just—I…I can’t deal with you right now.”
“Then you don't need to,” said Joel.
“Joel!” Jimmy shouted while throwing the bag of crisps at him, but Joel did not respond. “Just tell him you need him like a normal person!”
Joel, however, kept watching the view outside. “I’m not, Jimmy. I'll never be normal again.”
Jimmy slumped into his seat, feeling defeated.
“I suppose that’s true,” he sighed. “Perhaps I should never expect anything from you. You’re not him anymore. You’re… just not.”
”Then who am I?”
Joel asked.
Jimmy failed to say anything in return.
He picked up the bag of crisps from the floor and set it on his lap.
Silence.
Silence devoured them.
His nose felt stuffy again, but he was out of tissues. He couldn't even remember where he placed the box. Joel was still gazing out the window, and only God knew what he was thinking about.
As Jimmy grew bored of reading the packaging text on the bag of crisps repeatedly, a glimpse of black caught his eye.
It was the black Aston Martin that pulled up alongside their taxi, and Jimmy saw the driver with one hand on the wheel and an elbow resting on the car window.
The driver didn’t hold Jimmy’s attention for long. Instead, he noticed that the cashier in the backseat was clearly arguing with the driver, while their friend was attempting to intervene. Although Jimmy couldn’t hear their voices, it didn’t matter; he felt the tension of the situation.
“Well, look who's back again,” Jimmy yawned uncontrollably. “I really hope they’re doing well…”
In the next moment, it became clear that they were not.
Jimmy flinched away from the window as a loud boom echoed outside. Their taxi driver slammed on the brakes, cursing loudly. He gripped the back of his head, which had hit the seat from the sudden stop, and groaned. Slowly realized it was the sound of metal crumpling, it finally dawned on him what had happened.
The Aston Martin had crashed into the sidewalk, embedding its front hood into a streetlamp. Smoke rose from the crumpled metal toward the lamp, and after a few weak flickers, the light went out.
Someone was kicking the misshapen door from inside the Aston Martin. It swung open to reveal the young man who had been arguing with his driver moments earlier. He was now holding his shoulder, his forehead smeared with blood. Without wasting a moment, he started sprinting down the street, though it was clear that his body wouldn't allow him to maintain this pace for long.
Car horns blared from all directions as all the vehicles on the street came to a halt after the crash. The driver of the Aston Martin stepped out, seemingly unscathed, though there were smears of blood on his face. He watched his friend limping down the street and immediately began to chase after him without hesitation.
“Just—for the love of God! Call emergency!” Their taxi driver had contacted her dispatcher on the radio after taking a few breaths to compose herself. “No! I don’t know what’s going on—”
A hand suddenly pressed against her window. The taxi driver was shouting in terror at the wounded man in the champagne suit, who could barely stand. Deep cuts marred his body, and he was panting heavily.
On the other side of the window, the businessman mouthed some words to them.
“Call the hunters.”
Afterward, the man fell to the floor.
Then, the car door beside him suddenly opened, which startled Jimmy once more.
It was Joel who rushed out of the cabin, running toward the direction where the two had gone.
“Joel!”
Jimmy stumbled out of the car and shouted as well.
“Where are you going… again?”
Then, Jimmy laughed weakily to himself, followed by a fit of coughing.
Before the scene devolved into total chaos, he had already started pursuing his companion who vanished into the night. After running for a while, feeling his throat on fire and his legs giving up, he stopped at the outskirts of Victoria Park, surrounded by empty construction pits and devoid of any visitors. He quickly discovered what he hoped to see: rusty iron grids with a large gap between them, torn apart by something possessing unnatural strength.
Stepping into the park, surrounded by darkness as the lights of the street faded away, Jimmy noticed a trail of blood spattered on the snowy grass.
He started coughing once more.
He felt cold.
He didn't go very deep when he heard a scream. Jimmy immediately started sprinting toward the source of the sound but slipped on the ice after a slight misstep. He barely managed to get up from the ground and noticed some scratches on his palms, while his peacoat got dirty.
But none of them was his priority.
He raised his gaze from his hands.
In front of him was a sunken plaza surrounding a drinking fountain, adorned with well-carved marble that glimmered under the moonlight, which was partially obscured by thick, gloomy clouds. Lying on the staircase, surrounded by a pool of blood, was the cashier.
The driver was nowhere to be seen.
However, there was another creature knelt by the dying man's side, observing him in silence. The cashier gasped for air, but none came. There was a large gaping hole in his chest, wide and messy enough to reveal ribs. The scene made Jimmy wince. He quickly shifted his gaze from the dying man to Joel, who must have heard him coming but did not greet him.
“…Give me that knife.”
After both of them submerged in the somber silence for a long while, Joel finally spoke quietly.
“…Knife?”
Jimmy responded.
“…You want to end him, Joel? It’s not necessary. He's going to die—”
“Please, Timmy,” Joel interrupted softly, still watching the dying man as his breaths faded away. “Give me that knife. You picked it up, didn't you?”
Jimmy stood still.
“…Please,” Joel raised his head toward him. There was a tender smile curving his face. “I’m begging you, Jimmy. Just give it to me.”
“But… I…”
“I can't harm anyone,” Joel said peacefully, “I’m just a florist.”
This time, Jimmy complied with his request.
His hand trembled when he gave the folding knife to Joel, then quickly withdrew his empty hand and stepped back.
Joel didn't seem to mind the hostility. He flicked out the blade under the pale moonlight, still shimmering with his own blood. Then, he rolled up the sleeves of his shirt and coat to reveal his arm.
He thrust the blade into his skin.
Tearing. Ripping.
Blood was pouring out from the growing wound, yet he wasn't satisfied with it. He buried the knife deeper into his body, until—
“Eat it.”
The creature lifted a piece of redness toward the dying man.
A piece of his own flesh.
The man lifted his head with his remaining strength, eyes unfocused. Yet, he continued to gaze at the flesh, as if it were a gift from heaven.
Joel said to the dying man tenderly one more time.
“Eat it, if you want to keep living.”
Notes:
Artworks by @mi3-14 (there's a super cool comic for the ending of chp11!!):
https://www.tumblr.com/mi3-14/783237895708459008/theres-spoilers-to-ua-mostly-doodles-this-time
https://www.tumblr.com/mi3-14/783351649892745216/huge-spoilers-of-ua-chapter11-please-be-aware
https://www.tumblr.com/mi3-14/784171895486595072/ua-related-stuff-p3-is-just-some-random-joelAlso, I have a Lofter now! @Julius_XX
Chapter 13: Witch Hunt
Notes:
This chapter is approximately 17k words long. This is the first time I've ever tried to write a detective story. Please be easy with me <3
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Run.
He was using all of his remaining strength, no matter how little he had left. That scene still lingered in his mind: the smell of blood, the scream, the contortions of a human body. He briefly squinted his eyes closed before gasping for the dry, cold winter air that made his throat feel as if it might bleed. He squeezed his fists tighter and continued to run.
He tried to avoid thinking about it. He wanted to stay there with Joel and the poor man for a little longer to witness what was going to happen. But he just didn't have the courage—or the fortitude—to linger. He had a feeling that whatever this “turning” thing was, it wasn't going to be pretty.
But this.
“Wha—what’s going on?!” He let out an uncontrollable cry, stepping back away from the two by the fountain after the first scream echoed. “Joel, oh my—Joel, what did you do?!”
The creature responded with silence, holding the person down. Just a moment ago, that person was on the verge of dying, but now he was reaching for his own throat, leaving deep, claw-like marks on his neck after having just swallowed that piece of flesh.
Joel seemed calm, fully aware that this moment was inevitable. This jerk.
“Ah—Ah—Ahhh—”
The screaming stopped, replaced by intermittent choking. Jimmy watched the scene, unable to tear his eyes away from it.
“Are you sure you want to watch this, Tim?” Joel easily restrained the guys’ arms and then turned toward Jimmy. Upon receiving no reply from Jimmy, Joel continued, “It’s going to upset you.”
A faint, self-deprecating smile appeared on the creature's face.
He felt as if the spine-chilling scream was still following him, even though he knew it wasn't physically possible given how far he had run.
Jimmy bit down on the inside of his mouth, wincing as a sharp pain shot through his chest. It hurt so much, but he knew it was probably nothing compared to the agony that someone felt when they dug deep into their own throat. Just the thought of that unimaginable horror happening to a body not so different from his own brought him to tears. He didn't bother to wipe them away, allowing the tears to blur his vision as he kept running.
Finally, after putting some distance between himself and the park, he slowed down. He could hear police sirens approaching from the direction of the earlier car crash. There were only a few pedestrians on the sidewalk, and it seemed as though people understood that what had happened was none of their concern; they hurriedly walked past him. As exhaustion overwhelmed him, he stopped his aimless escape, bent down, and held onto his knees. He noticed his tears falling onto the brick pavement, quickly soaking into the gray slush below. He heard himself sobbing quietly.
The police siren was getting closer and louder. He realized it was a terrible idea to stay there, yet he felt too exhausted to move.
He wiped away his tears and let out a tired cackle, aimed squarely at himself.
The bright blue light flashing on a white police car entered his sight. He straightened his posture as the siren grew louder and louder. The car's headlights were blindingly bright, prompting him to raise a hand to shield his eyes. He then noticed that the car had come to a stop.
The siren had been turned off, creating an oddly peaceful atmosphere as the hunter stepped out of the police vehicle, dressed in his undercover clothing instead of his uniform.
“…Jimmy?”
Scott didn’t seem surprised to find him in this location. He wore a black trench coat over a brightly printed shirt adorned with various colorful flowers against a white background. The fabric of his trench coat felt thin, and he left it unbuttoned, even though the December night was freezing.
Jimmy wiped away his tears once more and shifted his gaze away from the hunter with a sniff, trying to act indifferent. “Evening, copper.”
“What happened? Did someone hurt you?” Scott stepped closer, his voice gentle. It must be the same pretentious tone he used when speaking to traumatized victims, which disgusted Jimmy. “Can you still speak, Jimmy?”
“Can I still speak?” Jimmy raised his voice, feeling a tremor run through him. He wasn't sure if it was from the shocking scene he had just witnessed or because he had been running despite feeling unwell. “Just go wherever you need to go and-and leave me alone,” he stammered, then his knees suddenly gave out.
He should have fallen to the ground, but Scott caught him just before he hit the floor, just like the first time they met.
“Get off me! Get off!”
He tried to struggle against it, but Scott was too powerful and determined to prevent him from falling.
“Jimmy, stop! I’m trying to help!” Scott held Jimmy's arms tightly and ignored the fists pounding against his chest. After struggling to restrain him for a while, he said, somewhat surprised, “Are you… sick? Do you have a fever?”
“I’m not!” Jimmy said fiercely, but he immediately started coughing. His pounding against Scott’s body stopped involuntarily, yet he still managed to protest to the hunter’s face after the coughing subsided, “Just get off me, copper! Leave me alone!”
Scott, however, ignored Jimmy's weak protest and cupped his face in his hands. Even through the black leather gloves, Jimmy could feel Scott's warmth seeping through to his cheeks. Scott forced their eyes to meet, and all Jimmy could see were two eyes behind the sunglasses of a human being.
Scott then pressed their foreheads together.
“Thank goodness, you’re not,” Scott said as he released his grip on Jimmy. He let out a small sigh of relief and patted Jimmy on the shoulders. “You don't quite have a fever, but you are definitely sick. Alright, what can I do to help you?”
“…I don’t need your help! I just told you to get lost—”Jimmy yelled loudly after he finally snapped back from the shock of Scott’s bizarre action.
“There’s no way I'm going to leave you alone, Jimmy.” Scott laughed heartily and pulled Jimmy’s wrist toward his police car, saying, “Not when you’re having a sick day and need my help.”
“No—no!” Jimmy exclaimed in desperation, trying to shake off the hunter's grip. But the hold on his wrist tightened further, causing him a bit of pain. He turned to see Scott open the back door of his car, and his heart raced with terror as he noticed a large black case inside. Scott grabbed the case by its strap with one hand and, using his other hand, forcefully pushed Jimmy onto the seat.
“Scott!” Jimmy shouted, feeling an ache in his back from the hard impact when he hit the seat. He quickly sat up and began banging on the car window after Scott had slammed the door shut. “Let me out! You son of a bitch! Let me out!”
Scott bowed down, tapped his fingers on the window where the man was locked inside, and offered him a smile.
He then slung the black case onto his back and walked away.
“No! Scott!” Jimmy shouted, banging on the glass harder. “Get back here and let me out! Scott! Scott Major! Scott!”
It had been a while—at least an hour—and it was already nine-thirty. At first, Jimmy tried to break the car window, but he was afraid he might end up violating several laws if he did. He also attempted to use Scott’s police dispatcher, shouting into it that he had been abducted against his will, but all he received was silence. There must have been some buttons he needed to press, but the thought of breaking the law made him hesitate to tamper with it. He noticed other police cars roaring past, but none of them seemed aware that there was an innocent man locked inside the vehicle.
After abandoning all hope, he decided to lie on the back seat and gaze at the car ceiling.
He couldn't even take a nap. When he tried closing his eyes, he would see that horrific scene again, and he certainly didn't want to relive it.
Is Joel doing okay? Is he being pursued by Scott? What about the other guy? Is he okay, too?
He was uncertain about trusting Joel's ability to fight a hunter alone.
However, there will be two monsters facing one human, right?
He shielded his eyes with the back of his hand.
If there’s going to be a casualty, please Lord, let it be Scott, he thought bitterly to himself. Certainly, he did not hate that hunter this much before being locked up in this car.
Suddenly, someone opened the driver's side car door.
Scott threw his heavy rifle onto the seat.
He did not greet Jimmy.
He was covered in blood from head to toe.
His blue hair was wet from the blood. His face was splattered with red streaks. His shirt was a different color now. The lenses of the sunglasses resting on the top of his head were no longer clear. The nearby street lamps illuminated the bloodstained hunter with a cold, glittering light.
The hunter remained outside the vehicle, gripping the car frame tightly with white knuckles. He stared down at the rifle in silence, his expression blank.
Jimmy sat up in his seat and followed the hunter’s gaze to the rifle, realizing that Scott was staring at its stock. It was the first time Jimmy noticed a tiny line of inscription printed on it, shimmering in silver under the artificial streetlight.
Psalm 116:16-17
There were a few larger and messier characters carved over the inscription, obscuring it. At first, Jimmy found it difficult to decipher the first character. It resembled an overlapping combination of the letters "M" and "A," creating a sharp, diamond-shaped eye in the center. The horizontal line of the letter "A" functioned as a slit-shaped pupil. There was also something written beside it: "XI."
M A XI
If Jimmy was guessing the letters correctly, they were carved in the opposite direction of the line, facing upside-down toward the bottom of the rifle.
“…Scott?”
Jimmy lifted his gaze from the rifle to the hunter and asked quietly.
The hunter appeared somewhat surprised. He turned to face Jimmy, suddenly remembering that he was still present. A friendly smile slowly spread across his face, and he raised his hand to give a small wave. “Hey, Jimmy! Sorry I took longer than I expected. Are you feeling well? Did you manage to take a nap?”
“Wha—what happened?” Jimmy flinched away from the front seat. That smile, unsettling against his blood-covered face, seemed oblivious to Scott. “Gosh, what is going on? Did you—did you kill—”
“Oh, this?” Scott pointed toward himself. “It’s not my blood. You don't need to worry about me.”
“No—I mean—” Jimmy raised his voice in disbelief. “Whose blood is it? Who did you kill?”
“I will never kill anyone, Jimmy.” Scott shifted his gaze to the stock of his rifle. “All I am doing is putting poor souls to rest.”
“Alright, alright!” Jimmy felt a pounding headache. He then tried to rephrase his question, “Did you fire your weapon at a creature or not?”
“Your friend is alright, Jimmy,” Scott said calmly. “But I did something I should never have done.”
He was staring at his rifle again for some reason. That latter sentence held an unusually dark and solemn tone, making Jimmy swallow nervously.
“Uh, alright…” He tried to find something else to ask. “What’s going on? Did someone vandalize your gun?”
“It’s a curse,” Scott murmured, his voice barely audible to Jimmy.
“…Excuse me?”
“Someone has put a curse on me,” Scott said, still speaking quietly. “It’s magic.”
“Huh?!” Jimmy jumped slightly in his seat. “What?!”
Suddenly, Scott lifted his face toward Jimmy and smiled again, “I think that’s enough about me. How are you feeling—”
“Evening, Sergeant.”
A voice called from the opposite direction of Scott, stopping their conversation. Jimmy shifted his attention to the other door and saw a person approaching their car.
“A word.”
Scott immediately straightened up and slammed the car door shut. It was easy to guess that the person outside was another cop, dressed in civilian clothes just like Scott. Judging by the officer's tone, he was probably of a higher rank than Scott. Jimmy couldn't hear the actual words they were exchanging, but he noticed the other cop pacing back and forth in front of Scott's car. The man's hands were clasped behind his back. Scott stood beside the car, but Jimmy couldn't see his face. He could catch some muffled words from the hunter, but Scott was being too quiet for him to understand anything clearly.
As Jimmy pondered for a moment whether to yell for help, he clearly heard Scott say a simple word: “Yes.”
The other cop stopped pacing and faced away from Scott. He then uttered something that made Scott reach for the door handle.
“Go home, Scott. Take a rest. You’ve done more than enough for London.”
Once the door was opened, Jimmy heard what the man was saying to Scott. Scott, grabbing the rifle, didn't glance at Jimmy and soon slammed the car door closed again.
When the man left, Scott reopened the door, empty-handed. He sat in the driver’s seat and seemed to stare blankly at the nothingness in front of him, as reflected in the windshield.
“…Scott?”
Jimmy spoke.
Scott didn't respond.
“What… What actually happened?”
He still hadn’t received a response.
“Are you…alright? And-and can I… leave?”
Jimmy asked timidly.
Scott picked up the dispatcher from the radio panel instead of responding to Jimmy. He held it to his mouth and froze for a moment.
He pressed a button on the panel, and static poured out. There was no voice on the other side.
“Inspector.”
Scott spoke quietly to the dispatcher, almost as if to himself, while keeping his gaze fixed ahead.
“I know you’re listening.”
…
At first, nothing happened. Then, Jimmy heard a voice that was very, very familiar.
“…Oh?”
And, a laugh.
“Well, it seems you finally need my help, dear little Scottie.”
“…Why are you taking me with you?”
Jimmy attempted to negotiate with the hunter who was walking beside him. After a brief exchange with Martyn, Scott moved his car a few streets away from the park. The hour that followed was excruciating. No matter how desperate he was or what he said to Scott, the hunter barely responded. He simply stared blankly at the windshield in front of him.
From what Jimmy could see, he was trembling.
When Jimmy finally decided to take his chance to escape, the hunter finally reacted.
They had left the car as Scott and Martyn's appointment time approached. Scott was trying to locate the spot that Martyn had indicated over the radio just before Martyn abruptly turned off whatever homemade device he was using.
“Scott, are you actually listening to me?”
Scott showed little interest in answering Jimmy’s question. His expression remained emotionless as they walked down the dimly lit street near the closed-off park. He was still covered in blood, which likely prompted a pedestrian to suddenly cross the street to avoid him. However, Scott didn’t bother to tidy himself up, as it seemed to matter little to him.
“And what’s this all about?!”
Frustrated and desperate in the horrifying atmosphere, Jimmy yelled aloud, raising his left hand, which was handcuffed to Scott’s right wrist.
“So you won’t try to run away again, Jimmy,” Scott replied, raising his wrist along with Jimmy’s. “I have to keep you safe; you’re very important to this case.”
Jimmy sniffed his stuffy nose and shot him a dirty look. “I don't know what you’re talking about. I was just out for a walk.”
“You can say whatever you want, dear Jimmy,” Scott said, keeping his eyes focused ahead as he pulled Jimmy along. “I just want you to know that I have no ill intentions for you. I’ll never hurt you. I’ve never killed a human in my entire life, and I never will.”
“But why do you have to tie up my left hand?” Jimmy complained. “I’m very uncomfortable. I’m literally—”
“Left-handed, I know,” Scott took over his sentence. “But you are tied to my right hand, so, we are even.”
Jimmy closed his eyes and attempted to pinch the bridge of his nose with his left hand, only to realize that another man was attached. He grunted in dismay.
“Why did he agree to come? He was…” After walking for a while, still with no sign of Martyn, he asked out of boredom, “Your colleague, right? That Martyn? Were you two pals?”
Scott suddenly stopped and turned his face toward Jimmy slowly. His expression was devoid of emotion.
Wrong question.
Jimmy felt the corner of his mouth twitching as he tried to hold a somewhat friendly smile, praying to God that it made him seem innocent enough.
Scott quickly reached into his pocket with his free hand.
“I—I’m sorry! I'm sorry!” Jimmy tried to jump away from Scott, but he couldn't. His panic increased. “I shouldn't ask, I shouldn't ask—!” He began yelling frantically.
Instead of pulling out a knife and stabbing him in the face, Scott handed him something blue.
It was a small pack of pocket tissues.
“Here,” Scott said, lowering his hand and looking forward again after Jimmy cautiously took it. “Sorry, I can't offer you anything more. That's all I managed to find on my way back.”
Jimmy gratefully blew his nose into the tissue, finally able to breathe through it again. He took a deep breath and then walked alongside the hunter, asking, “Did you really go to a shop like this?”
“Like what?”
“Covered in blood?”
“It’s not my blood. I’m fine, Jimmy.”
“Wha—Scott!” Jimmy exclaimed. “Do you realize how scary you look?!”
Scott halted abruptly once again. He glanced down at himself and lifted the bloody fabric on his chest for a moment.
“Wait, really?” Scott released the fabric and raised his eyebrows. “I didn't even think about it that way, Jesus. I thought it was due to my accent.”
“What?!”
“The shop owner just handed me a tissue and begged me to leave,” Scott said, resting his chin on his hand. “Oh, I see. I must look like I’ve just committed a crime. I thought he was just afraid of me because I’m Scottish.”
Jimmy rolled his eyes discreetly.
“So you didn’t?” Jimmy decided to pursue, since Scott finally gave him some hints about what happened while he was gone. “You didn’t kill anyone? Not a single human or creature?”
“You don’t need to trust me.” Scott lowered his hand into his pocket and continued walking. “No one needs to. I wasn't expecting anything anyway.”
There was a hint of genuine sorrow in his voice, which piqued Jimmy's interest even more. However, it was clear that Scott wasn't going to offer him any explanation. Still, Jimmy thought there might be another approach he could take, especially since it seemed Scott wasn't going to kill him for asking.
“Ugh, now you have to drag me to see Martyn,” Jimmy complained. “I really don’t even want to look at him anymore. Why do you need to see him of all people?” He glanced at Scott, trying to sound casual. “Is he going to trust you?”
“I don't need his trust,” Scott said with a flat tone. “I need him to hunt the witch.”
“…Heh?”
Jimmy let out a confused grunt.
“That friend of yours,” Scott continued calmly, as if he hadn't just said the most bizarre thing ever, “killed the victim.”
Jimmy glanced around nervously and forced a smile. “I don't know what you're talking about. I haven't seen him in a while.”
What is it, Joel? What did you do this time around?
And when did you turn into a witch?
Even though Scott’s description of the situation was peculiar, it didn’t stop Jimmy from silently cursing at the creature.
Scott hummed, avoiding his gaze. “I know you'd say that. I think we’ve talked enough, Jimmy.”
“Are you sure it's that creature?” Jimmy asked, followed by more questions. “What did he do? Did you talk—”
Jimmy stopped talking as soon as he noticed a figure leaning against a police box at the far end of the street. The figure was tossing a small white object into the air and catching it repeatedly with one hand, while the other hand rested in his pocket. He wore a black uniform, which included a riding coat, a black tie, and a peaked cap adorned with a strap of black and white chessboard pattern. A shiny silver badge was positioned in the center of the cap.
He smiled when he saw the two newcomers. He stopped tossing the white object and leaned away from the blue box.
Scott halted.
He turned to face what appeared to be a high-ranking police officer on the other side of the street. Jimmy could feel Scott's tremors through the handcuff linking them together. Scott stared at the officer, his expression notably pale beneath the bloodstains, as if he had just seen—
A damn ghost.
“Evening,” the officer stepped down from the curb and began to cross the empty street, flicking the edge of his cap with his fingers, revealing a bit of bright blonde hair concealed underneath. “Sergeant.”
Scott spoke with trembling lips in response.
“Go to hell, Martyn.”
“Oh, come on. I know who you want to see,” Martyn said, stepping closer with a wide smile. “So I brought him here to see you, Scottie.”
A hand grasped Martyn’s tie and pulled him closer to Scott. Scott's hand trembled. He did not say a word.
“Ah, Sco-ttie.” Martyn giggled, his eyes narrowing. “Do you know how long I spent trying to remember how to tie this stupid tie? Shouldn't you cherish it for me? Huh?”
Scott slowly loosened his tie and pushed him away. His expression remained blank.
“So, you're in a bad mood again, huh?” Martyn didn't bother adjusting his tie. He started tossing a small white object into the air once more. As he got closer, Jimmy realized it was a chess piece, shimmering under the cold, dim artificial streetlights surrounding them. Noticing Jimmy's curious glance, Martyn greeted him, “Hey, Jimmy. How art thee? Long time nay see.”
“Don’t talk to me,” Jimmy said bitterly, avoiding eye contact.
Martyn laughed and ruffled Jimmy's hair, which Jimmy couldn't dodge, before turning his attention back to Scott.
“What happened, Scott? Did those old bastards call you names again? I told you this would happen. Are you going to cry?”
“What do you think happened?” Scott muttered, a strand of loose hair falling between his eyes. Martyn attempted to tuck it back for him, but Scott swatted his hand away. “I’d love to hear your prediction, Inspector.”
“Ou—What is this?” Martyn waved his hand in the air. “Are you trying to test me?”
“You weren't a copper for some time. I need to be sure.”
“Oh, but I even brought our chess piece!” Martyn raised it and dangled it teasingly in front of Scott’s eyes. “Do you see how serious I am?”
“Why didn't you bring a black piece? It's my turn.”
“Your turn?” Martyn lowered it and clicked his tongue. “It is my turn, Sergeant, or you wouldn't have crawled your way back to me like this.”
Jimmy noticed a slight movement in the handcuff; Scott was clenching his fist.
“Covered in blood, huh?” Martyn tossed the chess piece again and caught it swiftly. “They can't be yours, or you wouldn’t even be able to stand like this.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Were you in a fight? If so, why are you covered in blood? You don't fight in a way that would cause this.”
“Very well. I'm glad you at least remember this.”
“Of course I do. I was the one who taught you,” Martyn chuckled. “Then it’s a human. Were you trying to save their life?”
Scott said nothing.
“That didn't do much, did it?” He laughed again. “Why would you run to me like that?” Martyn flicked the chess piece to Scott, who caught it in midair. “Did you let a creature escape?”
Scott opened his hand and looked at the chess piece.
“So, you’re saying you can't kill a creature? That doesn't make sense. You’re Scott Major.”
Martyn glanced at him from head to toe. Then, he placed his hands on his hips and stared at Scott’s face with wide eyes.
“Oh boy,” he muttered, lowering his gaze to the pavement, seemingly frustrated. “That can't be it. Come on.”
“…I really don't want to talk to you," Jimmy said, feeling extremely confused. "But what do you mean?”
Instead of responding to Jimmy, Martyn asked, “I’m not going to question why you’re in this situation for now. Just tell me this: did you see his rifle?”
“I… uh…” Jimmy scratched his cheek and glanced quickly at Scott, unsure of what to say. Scott met his glance with a deadpan stare. “I saw it being taken away from him… I guess.”
”You did?” Martyn exclaimed, clearly delighted as he clapped his hands. “For what reasons?
“I—Uh—” Feeling Scott’s glare burning into him, he said nervously, “I didn’t hear anything because Scott closed the car door. Actually, could you two… leave me out of it?”
Martyn began to laugh, while Scott averted his gaze.
“Scottie!” Martyn patted Scott on the shoulder repeatedly, laughing so hard that he could barely breathe. “Oh Lord—Scottie! You finally crossed the line! I’m so happy for you—”
“Stop it,” Scott muttered with a serious expression, although letting Martyn pat him. “You’ve proven yourself, Inspector. Now tell me you can solve a case.”
Once Martyn finished laughing, he asked, “Is there a creature involved?”
“The same one you used to trick me.”
“How did you obtain that information?” Martyn pulled the chess piece away from Scott’s hand. “Tell me, Sergeant. Show me your evidence.”
“My eyewitness and the scent,” Scott replied dryly. “It’s unforgettable after several encounters with it. There’s no way it will fool me again.”
“Ah, are you still upset with me about the lung trick?” Martyn giggled. “Where was it?”
“Victoria Park.”
“East or west?”
“Middle. I found the victim by the drinking fountain.”
“Good. Who’s the victim?”
“Male, in his early twenties. I had never seen him before; he was already deceased when I found him.”
“Is the blood his?”
Scott lowered his head and said nothing.
Martyn tossed the chess piece into the air again. “What about the creature?”
“It left. I wasn't able to fire a single shot at it.”
“Did it?” Martyn shook his head and laughed. He threw the chess piece back to Scott. “That doesn't sound like something it would do. But I guess you never know. Which way did it go?”
Scott did not respond.
“Which way, Scott? You know how large that park is.”
Martyn asked, tilting his head.
“It went…” Scott's voice trailed off. “Deeper into the park.”
“What was my question?”
Although there was now a smile on the inspector's face, it lacked warmth.
“…Which way.” Scott asked, his voice trembling. Jimmy could feel the shake in Scott's hand through the handcuff.
“And what was your answer?”
“…It went deeper into the park.”
“Was that what I asked for?”
Martyn spoke slowly, maintaining his smile.
“…No.”
“Then why are you wasting my bloody time, Scott Major?”
No response.
“You lied to me, Scottie.”
Martyn’s smile disappeared. He sighed.
“There’s no one to blame but you, Scott. You didn't notice where it went because you were distracted by the most obvious reason: you accidentally killed a human. That’s why you’re covered in his blood, desperately trying to save his life in a panic. They took away your rifle because you were dishonorably discharged. You broke the rules by firing at someone who wasn’t a creature. God, I'm so bored—I thought you were going to bring me something fun—”
“I know that you wouldn't trust me,” Scott interrupted quietly. “I didn't kill a human. You’re wrong, Martyn.”
“Oh, please, spare me,” Martyn said as he rubbed his cheek and shook his head. “You know I'm not one to judge. Can we move past the denial stage already?”
Scott let out a laugh.
“So, you’ve made a choice, Martyn?”
“What choice? I was telling the truth.”
“And I’m telling you, it wasn't me. I didn’t kill anyone. But you chose not to trust me,” Scott said, looking down. Jimmy felt a slight tremor in the handcuff. “I wasn’t expecting anything from you anyway.”
“You know,” Martyn shoved his hands into his pockets, "this is just the first stage of grief. There’s a long way to go after this. I genuinely feel bad for you. I really do. You see, I'm so sad that I could recite a poem—”
“Goodbye,” Scott interrupted, shaking the handcuff to catch Jimmy’s attention. “Let’s leave, Jimmy. I’m done with him. He clearly isn’t going to help me hunt the witch.”
Just as Scott was about to pull Jimmy away, Martyn shouted in slight panic.
“Wai-Wait!” He grabbed Scott’s left hand. “I’ll help! Don’t leave me out of it! Come on, Scott! I was so bored! Keep me entertained for a bit!”
Scott turned back to look at the man, who grasped his hand and acted very sorrowful. “You’ll help me hunt the witch?” he asked dispassionately.
Martyn nodded eagerly with a bright grin. “Whatever you say, whatever you say! Oh, I can't wait to see your little crying face after you run through all the stages—”
Scott looked disgusted. Frankly, Jimmy couldn’t blame him.
“And you, Jimmy? Are you feeling like crying tonight?” Martyn suddenly turned toward Jimmy, asking with what seemed to be genuine concern. “Did the bomb blow up? You know, the one I gifted you—”
Jimmy took a step toward Martyn in response. Instead of answering Martyn, he raised his free hand—
“Ou—!”
—and punched this motherfucker in the face.
Martyn touched the side of his face with the back of his hand in shock. “Wha—What’s that about—?”
He didn't get to finish his wail as another punch connected to the other side of his face, this time delivered by Scott.
“What was that about?”
Jimmy and Scott sat in the backseat while the driver, a man with two tissues stuffed into his bleeding nostrils, handled the police car. Martyn gently touched his reddened cheeks and let out a groan. “What was that all about?” he asked. “Why did you have to punch me? What did I do wrong?”
“There’s no point in talking to you, Martyn,” Jimmy said bitterly, crossing his arms. “Just accept it.”
He saw the hunter beside him nodding in agreement.
“And where are you taking us?!” Jimmy shouted. “What’s going on? Scott, why did you let him steal your car?!”
“What—this was my car! Watch your mouth, kid!” Martyn protested. “What do you think I'm doing? I’m trying to get this mad lad away from the crime scene. You can’t just walk around like this, Scottie! You’re breaking the law!”
“I am the law,” Scott muttered, leaning his head against the car window and leaving a red smudge. “And the law is telling you to crash into a tree and kill yourself.”
“Scott! We’re in the same car,” Jimmy nudged Scott’s rib with his elbow. “Why do you have to say that?”
Scott chuckled softly. “The law will say whatever he wants.”
“Scottie—” Martyn pleaded, “you can't act like this around strangers. We’ve talked about this! You’re scaring Jimmy.”
“Oh, really?” A friendly smile suddenly appeared on Scott’s face as he leaned away from the car window toward Jimmy, placing a hand on Jimmy’s thigh. “I’m so sorry, Jimmy. Are you feeling alright? Do you need to take a nap? You can lean on me if you want.”
Jimmy flinched away from Scott in terror. Scott returned to his corner and shook his head.
“Scott, stop being creepy,” Martyn said, disheartened. “Damn it, we just lost years of progress…”
“Why were you listening to Scott’s radio, first of all?” Jimmy asked Martyn. “Have you two been doing this for a while?”
“No, Jimmy,” Scott said with a disgusted frown, hugging his arms. “I know he did something to our transmission system, and this was his car before it became mine.”
“So you didn’t know for sure?” Jimmy asked, turning to him and noticing a small nod. Scott hugged himself tighter. “What, did you just guess he would magically show up?”
Martyn barked out a loud laugh. “Scottie is getting desperate! That’s it! That—Ah—”
His voice was cut off by a choke as Scott reached forward and started strangling their driver from behind.
“Scott! Stop, Scott!” Jimmy pulled him back. “He’s driving! You can't kill someone while he’s behind the wheel!”
Martyn coughed loudly and patted his neck. “Jesus! Scottie! Do you remember our little rhyme? The 'We Don't Kill Humans' song? We don't choke, we don't stab—Ah—”
As soon as he began singing that terrible song, Scott shook off Jimmy’s hold and started choking Martyn again.
“Scott!” Jimmy cried out in panic. “He’s driving the car! For the love of God, calm down!”
Scott released him reluctantly and once again hugged himself in the corner.
“What’s the deal with him?” Jimmy asked Martyn, who was gasping for air but somehow still managed to drive. “He just… he just changed into another person. Before, he was just annoying and a bit creepy.” He stole a glance at Scott, who was maintaining a blank expression and staring out the window. “Now he’s just weird.”
“That’s…” Martyn coughed, then tried to sound more composed. “That’s just who he is. This is the real Scott Major hiding in plain sight. Cold and heartless. Shocking, isn't it?”
Martyn began to laugh. Jimmy looked at Scott once more, who remained silent.
“You know,” Martyn said, “his hair was black.”
“…What?”
Jimmy’s eyes grew wide with astonishment.
“Yes, a very dark color. You can see his roots peeking through if you really look for them. I saw it the last time I held his cheeks.”
Scott kicked the back of his driver's seat forcefully, causing the entire car to shake slightly.
“Scott, I’m literally driving!” Martyn yelled in frustration. “I’m seriously getting mad. Kid, can you keep him distracted? Just tickle his stomach if necessary.”
“What? I’m not going to tickle him! He’s a grown ass man!” Jimmy protested, wincing away from Scott, who had scooted further into his side of the cabin, hugging his abdomen in a defensive position. “And stop calling me ‘kid!’” Jimmy shouted at Martyn. “Just how old are you, dare to call me a kid?!”
“I’m 49!” Martyn replied happily. “How old do you think a chief inspector would be?”
Scott suddenly let out a small chuckle, but it quickly faded into silence.
“…Huh? But you don't seem—”
“Yeah, they said I have a baby face,” Martyn nodded. “It’s not my problem that the Lord has gifted me with eternal youth.”
Just as Jimmy was about to reluctantly accept that, he heard a small voice from Scott, saying flatly, “He’s not that ancient. He’s 31.”
“…Scottie,” Martyn complained, “you’re ruining my joke again! Ah, my life is ruined. Now everyone will think I’m a filthy liar…”
Scott let out a louder laugh. It sounded different from his usual one. Perhaps because it was definitely less calm and composed, a bit devilish even.
“Uh…” Jimmy ignored Martyn’s grumbling and turned to Scott. “I don’t understand. What’s the joke?”
“When you think of a chief inspector,” Scott said, wiping a smear of red from the window he was leaning against. The movement left a larger red mark on the glass. He then lowered his hand back into his lap. “Do you ever picture a young man in his twenties, Jimmy?”
Jimmy shrugged in his seat. “Well, maybe not. But I haven't met many inspectors in real life, either.”
“Let’s just say that when he was still at the Yard, no one believed him,” Scott shook his head, picking a dry chunk of blood from his hair. “People thought he was a fake copper because he didn’t look like an inspector. Then he just started saying—”
“I'm 51!” said Martyn.
“Things like this,” Scott continued, nodding his head, “are meant to make people confused.”
“You just never have faith in me, Scottie,” Martyn mumbled. “You’re always like this.”
“So you expect me to believe you just aged two years in one minute?” Scott said with a smirk.
“Yeah?” Martyn said. “I grew up really quickly. I'm like a-a puffball mushroom.”
Scott laughed.
Jimmy, puzzled by the interaction unfolding before him, wondered what to say. “Are you two… on good terms or not?”
“Nope.”
“No.”
They answered simultaneously.
"He's going to kill me sooner or later," Martyn said happily.
“I don't kill people, Inspector.” Scott leaned closer to the driver's seat and slowly climbed his hands upward until they were at the level of Martyn’s neck. A smile broke across his face as he narrowed his eyes. ”As long as you are human, you are in these safe, steady hands of mine.”
“Is this how you address a superior, Sergeant? Who taught you to speak this way, you brat?”
“Who did that? I wonder,” Scott chuckled. ”It must be a very incompetent mentor.”
“Jimmy, did you hear what he just said?” Martyn asked. “Quite a nasty tongue, doesn't he?”
Then, he lifted one hand from the wheel and pushed Scott's hand away rather aggressively.
A chilling silence lingered for a moment.
“Uh…” Jimmy said hesitantly as he turned to Scott. “Was he angry?”
“No,” Scott slowly leaned back in his seat. “He just wants you to think that way because he feels like it.”
Reflecting on the night at the museum, Jimmy felt uncertain but chose not to speak. Martyn also remained silent.
As the trio stepped out of the car, Jimmy quickly realized they were back at the same damn park once again. It was already past midnight, and it finally dawned on him that Martyn was definitely driving in circles, especially after spotting the same building for the fourth time.
“We're back?!” he exclaimed, holding his forehead with one hand. He then pointed at the yellow tape blocking the gates to the closed park. “Why do we have to drive around in the first place?”
“So most of my ex-colleagues would leave us alone.” Martyn tore off the tape and stepped inside. “I can't deal with them right now; I have to catch a witch for Scott and see him cry.”
“I’m not going to cry, Martyn,” Scott shook his head and followed in, dragging Jimmy alongside him. “Just do what you're meant to do, like a good puppy.”
“Woof!”
Martyn barked happily.
Jimmy shook his head.
After spotting two officers in custodian helmets chatting in the distance, seemingly guarding the crime scene ahead, Martyn stretched out his arms and quickened his pace.
“Stay back, Scottie!” he added, “You’ll scare them off! You look like you just killed someone! Ha!”
Jimmy glanced at Martyn, who was giggling to himself on the way to the sunken plaza. He and Scott started walking leisurely along the park path, following Martyn. Looking around at the vast, tranquil lawn surrounding them, covered in patches of snow, he turned to the hunter beside him and asked, “Is he really your best option? Don’t you have any other friends at the Yard?”
“I have. I have plenty of friends,” Scott replied, observing the two officers who looked puzzled as they noticed a chief inspector approaching. Martyn walked with his hands clasped behind his back, exuding an air of authority. “But they’re not going to help me tonight.”
Reflecting on Martyn’s words and what he had witnessed throughout the night, Jimmy had doubts about Scott’s story. However, Scott remained clearly in denial, making Jimmy feel a small degree of sympathy.
“Still after the witch, huh?” He attempted to sound light-hearted as he spoke to Scott, while Martyn unexpectedly began shooting the officers with a tranquilizer gun. They definitely didn't see that coming. “You know, maybe it would be best for you to take a rest.”
“I'm not tired, Jimmy,” Scott attempted to wipe dried blood from his cheeks. “I don't need a rest, but thank you for caring. Are you feeling better? How is your cold?”
Jimmy rolled his eyes at Scott’s complete oblivion to the hint he was trying to give and decided to say nothing. He began to think that this hunter just didn’t understand how human interaction worked, even though he had known Grian for a while at this point.
“It must have been tiring to spend years with someone like him,” Jimmy decided to change the subject by nudging Scott’s arm toward Martyn.
Scott watched the former inspector as he walked down the road, whistling a terrible tune to himself. He twirled a dart gun in his hand, moving confidently across the vast lawn beneath a moon hidden by clouds.
“You know… Scott,” Jimmy clenched his free hand into a fist. “Someone pulled the same trick on me before—just suddenly showing up in his old outfit and pretending to be someone he used to be.”
Scott continued to watch the inspector in the distance. Then he turned to Jimmy and quietly asked, "Does that make you angry?"
“Yes,” Jimmy nodded, “but not at that moment. I was angry afterward because I realized it was all fake. He was never truly that person to begin with.”
“Then it's different.” Scott lowered his head, staring at the stone pavement before them. “It's different, Jimmy. I've known what kind of person he is all along. I think I'm upset because he feels the need to rub it in my face. How pathetic does he think I am?”
He chuckled softly to himself.
“That’s rather mean-spirited,” Jimmy muttered. “I can’t imagine the torture of being his subordinate.”
“It wasn't just torture, Jimmy.” Scott displayed no emotion as he said this. “He killed me only to give me a new life.”
“…Huh?”
Scott removed his sunglasses from his hair and attempted to wipe the dried blood off the lenses. It wasn't very effective.
“When a constable in training makes a mistake, let’s say, he lets the true culprit walk free due to a well-crafted lie, what do you think would be a fitting punishment for him?”
“Uh… a good old scolding?” Jimmy let the hunter drag his hand along as he continued to clean his sunglasses. “A pay cut? I really don't know how the Yard operates…”
“How about writing ‘I am a stupid swine’ on paper for twenty hours straight?” Scott chuckled and shook his head. “He even bound the pages together into a book and gifted it to me. I still remember it, Jimmy. The first hundred pages were soaked because I was crying. Then the letters became barely recognizable. Finally, there were just squiggles on page after page. It ended with an ink dot, because I passed out.”
Scott slowly swirled the leg of his sunglasses with a weary smile.
Jimmy was completely at a loss for words.
“You saw how he treated me.” Scott closed the leg. “I’m sorry that I have to drag you into it. It was an unpleasant scene for anyone to witness.”
“He’s… What a piece of shit—”
Scott suddenly burst into laughter, catching Jimmy off guard.
“Yeah, let’s try calling him that, shall we?” Scott took a deep breath. Then he yelled at the man walking in the distance, “Martyn! Jimmy just called you a piece of shit!”
“My pleasure!” Martyn yelled back, waving his arms toward the pair. “Did you tell him about the Piggy Book?”
Scott laughed heartily once again.
“The worst part is,” Scott said to Jimmy afterward, “there's nothing you can do about him. There were a couple of times when I tried to defeat him, but he was always two steps ahead. At this point, I just don’t see any reason to stand up to him.”
“Have you tried…” Jimmy raised his eyebrows. “I don't know, but repeatedly punching him in the face seems like a good option to me.”
“Why would I?” Scott asked, tilting his head. “He’s way too nice to me.”
“…Eh?”
“The week after the Piggy Book,” Scott tucked his sunglasses into his chest pocket, “I discovered a freshly cut tongue in my drawer, tied with a silk bow. It belonged to the culprit we believed had escaped to the continent. Inspector whispered to me that it was the same tongue that had deceived me.”
Jimmy wrinkled his nose in disgust when Scott said those sentences fondly. “Great. So he does know how to please you.”
“Not only that, Jimmy,” Scott said, lowering his hand. “Why do you think my colleagues chased after him at the power station?” He let out a small laugh. “It's because he's the kind of person who kisses all his friends when he’s drunk. It took several of his blackouts for me to finally understand how he really is.”
When hearing that, Jimmy blinked rapidly a few times.
“I talked too much,” Scott blinked a few times back and raised his hand to his mouth. “Didn’t I?”
“No, I don't think that's the issue here…” Jimmy sighed, lowering his head. “God, I’m so glad I punched him.”
“You’re the first person who has the courage to do that, I have to say,” Scott nodded. “What a hero, Jimmy.”
“What! I’ll do that as many times as I want!” Jimmy raised his free hand and started swinging his arm. “He has nothing to use against me! I'm literally broke! I have nothing to lose!”
Scott laughed. Jimmy lowered his arm and blinked rapidly, once more.
“I have to say, Scott…” Jimmy said hesitantly. “You’re much easier to talk to when you’re not… well, you know, a cop.”
“I’m still a cop,” Scott said, seeming confused. “I just don’t have any weapons right now.”
“No, I meant,” Jimmy said, shoving his free hand into his pocket and feeling the texture of a tissue pack. “It’s when you’re not acting like one. I don’t like the way you seemed so smug around me, as if you knew everything. Now I realize you just do whatever you see…”
“What, are you saying I acted like Martyn?” Scott’s eyes widened, and he started shaking his head vigorously. “N-no. There’s no way, Jimmy. I'm not turning into him. That is never going to happen.”
As Scott frantically denied the accusation in a state of panic, Jimmy couldn't help but burst into laughter.
“How could he just call you heartless?” Jimmy said after the laughter had died down. “You’re actually a very lively person. Well, maybe you’re a little bit weird… But I’ve seen people who are way weirder than you.”
“Because it’s very much true,” Scott nodded. “I don’t often feel emotions, and people keep telling me I don’t have a heart.”
“That’s kind of mean,” Jimmy mumbled. “I think you’re just awkward around people. You started calling me your friend the second time we met, you know that’s inappropriate, right?”
“…Is it?”
Scott furrowed his eyebrows.
“But we have exchanged names…”
“Scott, for the love of God…” Jimmy smacked his forehead. “Do you really know what that word means?”
“You shared a lot about yourself,” Scott said thoughtfully, “and we had a great conversation. I thought I was doing quite well.”
“No! You were actually trying to interrogate me…” Jimmy complained. “God, Scott… I thought you were just trying to act creepy, but you really meant it?”
Scott nodded firmly.
“Scott, you’re really strange,” Jimmy muttered. “And I’m not even trying to be negative.”
Scott stared at him for a moment and then grumbled, “So it’s true. Everyone hates me because I don’t have a heart. I know it. It’s not because I'm gay and Scottish.”
“No, it’s likely because you’re dressed like an American tourist,” Jimmy said dryly.
“Wait, really?” Scott jolted away from Jimmy in surprise. “Is it because of how I dress?”
“Yeah, and your hair color too,” Jimmy nodded, attempting to sound serious.
Scott stared at Jimmy in horror before frantically covering his hair with his free hand.
Jimmy started to choke as he laughed. It made him cough.
“No, Scott, I’m just messing with you,” he said, taking out a tissue from his pocket after stopping his cough. “Do you remember this?”
“Yes?”
“You went out of your way to buy this for me. Well, I guess you didn't pay for it… But I can tell you were trying to be nice.”
“It was because you were unwell. I thought you might appreciate it.”
“Yeah, you’re right.” Jimmy took out a tissue and blew his nose, “I think you need to show more of that.”
“Of what?”
“Your emotions, of course.” Jimmy lowered the tissue.
“…But I don't have that many.”
“Yeah, you do,” Jimmy said. “I could tell you were unhappy when your rifle was taken away. You got angry when Martyn questioned you. You laughed when Martyn lied about his age. And when you said you’d never kill a human, you meant it, didn’t you?”
Scott, who seemed like he had lost Jimmy a moment ago, immediately nodded with a determined expression after hearing that sentence.
“I won't, Jimmy. I will never do that because I'm a hunter.”
“I know.” Jimmy let out a deep sigh. “Do you see my point? Scott, my man, you have a heart; you just don't know how to show it.”
Scott observed him for a while without speaking. Then, he quietly said, “But I never feel like I do.”
“What—It’s right here!” Jimmy raised a hand to poke Scott’s chest. “It’s literally beating as we speak.”
“That doesn't mean anything. It’s not the same heart.”
“It’s not?” Jimmy continued poking his chest, making Scott giggle and try to dodge, but he was unable to. They were literally chained together, after all. “Scott, you’ve got to listen to it. Listen to your heart!”
“Alright! Alright! Stop tickling me; I can't handle it, Jimmy!”
After Jimmy finally stopped, Scott raised a hand to his chest and pressed firmly against it.
“Do you feel it? Can you hear the heartbeat?”
Jimmy offered him a smile.
Scott held his heart for a moment, then began to smile as well.
“I suppose you’re right,” he said softly. “Thank you.”
They shared a silence that followed, which felt calm and genuinely relieving to Jimmy after the long night. It nearly made him forget all his frustration and pain—if only he hadn't noticed that Martyn had finally reached the edge of that sunken plaza and come to a stop.
After the two caught up with him, Jimmy and Scott stopped as well.
The body was nowhere to be found, but the blood remained. There was far more blood than Jimmy had anticipated, splattered everywhere. At the large pool of blood on the stairs leading to the fountain where the victim and Joel had been, Jimmy immediately noticed things that he was sure hadn't been there during his first visit to the plaza.
A pentagram was drawn in blood, larger than the pool of red liquid it enclosed, as if the body that had once been there was used as a sacrifice for a ritual. Next to the pentagram, a line of crooked characters was also written in blood.
The florist sends his regards.
Jimmy's eyes widened when he tried to step back, but the handcuff prevented him from doing so.
Joel… What?
He wanted to shout, but after glancing at Scott and Martyn, he decided to hold back.
When did you learn how to do that?
“I was trying to tell you there was a witch,” Scott said, patting the former inspector, who seemed lost in his thoughts upon seeing the pentagram. “And you just chose not to believe me.”
“Shut your mouth, Sergeant,” Martyn pushed the hand away and stepped into the plaza. “I’m trying to think.”
Scott smiled but did not speak. Rather than following Martyn, he stopped at a park bench on the edge of the sunken plaza and took a seat. With no other option available, Jimmy joined him, both of them watching as Martyn stood in the distance beside the blood, thoughtfully holding his chin.
“Uh, so…” Jimmy scratched his head. “Is this real? What is this? Black magic?”
“So, you don't think I'm in denial anymore?” Scott chuckled wearily. “I haven't told a single lie about what happened tonight, and I never will.”
“Al…right?”
Jimmy said halfheartedly. He stared at the crime scene, trying to piece together what could happen in silence.
Joel killed the victim, whom he was trying to save. He then left a strange line of text and drew a pentagram before running away upon seeing Scott.
That doesn't seem like him, does it?
But he had no evidence to suggest otherwise. The truth was unmistakably inscribed in blood.
…
But…
Were there other available options?
He quickly glanced at Scott. Scott's expression remained perfectly calm.
If Joel was not responsible for this, and Scott was the one who killed the victim after he had already turned, then he indeed didn’t kill a human. That’s why he said Martyn was wrong.
Why did they confiscate his rifle if he was just doing his job?
Martyn appeared to complete his inspection. He turned to look for the pair and walked over to the bench. With no visible emotions on his face, he sat down next to Scott, crossed his legs, and stared at the crime scene.
That doesn't make any sense. Jimmy pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head. Why is everything so unclear? And why does Scott keep speaking in such a strange manner?
“Well, they certainly know how to clean up evidence after all these years,” Martyn said, sounding disgruntled. “There are some impacts on the structures here and there, but that’s about it. At first glance, it’s hard to tell if they were caused by a creature or your rifle. Are you still saying that you didn't kill anyone, Scott?”
Scott didn't bat an eye on him. “You can simply say you have no idea what's happening, Inspector.”
“Scottie, I'm trying to help you…” Martyn leaned back, resting his head against the back of the bench. “You can say whatever you want, but I gave up my sashimi night just for you…”
“No, you’re only trying to show that you’re smarter than everyone else.”
Martyn chuckled and said, "Isn't that obvious?"
“Do you know who wrote that line?” Scott asked. “It wasn’t me, was it? You know my handwriting.”
“Yeah, I had you write an entire book,” Martyn leaned away from the bench. “Who is the florist? That creature? Well, I guess it makes sense; it seems to know a lot about flowers.”
“What? How do you know that?” Jimmy asked in surprise.
“It gave me a devil’s trumpet.” Martyn opened his riding coat and began searching. “Ugh. I left it in my green jacket. I really treasure it, you know.”
“You really know a lot about it, Martyn,” Scott said, sounding a bit bitter.
Jimmy dismissed Scott’s words of envy and returned to his thoughts.
Scott claimed that he didn't lie about anything that happened tonight.
“Oh, Scottie—! Are you feeling jealous? It’s not personal. My heart will always belong to you and you only. I just don’t want to discard things that people have gifted me. It doesn’t happen often, you know.”
“It’s because you’re a disgrace to humanity, dear Martyn.”
“Sco—ttie—”
Martyn wrapped his arms around Scott's chest and began to rock him back and forth in a mock cry, while Jimmy remained lost in thought.
“Scottie, what game are you playing—” Martyn wailed. “Just tell me everything. Why are you being so shy about it? Don’t you trust me? Don’t you trust your dear old mentor?”
“Okay. Just admit that you're incompetent, and I'll gladly share everything with you.”
Did you fire your weapon at a creature or not?
Jimmy remembered asking the hunter.
“Ne—ver—! Don't you dare to humble me, you stinky little brat! Take this!”
I did something I should never have done.
“Stop! Stop tickling me! Jesus, what a dirty move, Martyn!”
…
He didn't kill a human, but his rifle was confiscated, so he couldn't have killed the victim as a creature either.
…
That must be it.
…
It wasn't Joel.
“Confess! You better confess, or I'm going to tickle you to death!”
But what about me?
He lifted his head to look at the hunter, who was desperately trying to escape from Martyn with only one hand available.
Will this truth get me into trouble?
I must be cautious about how I express the truth, as it is something that someone present at that time and place could have known.
“Stop it! Martyn! Stop! I'm going to kill you if you don't stop!”
He told me that I am very important to this case. Was it because he knew I must have been there? Then he knows that I know the truth.
…What game are you playing, Scott?
Jimmy watched Martyn for a moment while he continued to tickle Scott.
More importantly, who is your opponent in this game?
There's nothing you can do about him. There were a couple of times when I tried to defeat him, but he was always two steps ahead. At this point, I just don’t see any reason to stand up to him.
Scott said so.
…
Huh.
…
“Uh… Scott?”
Jimmy cleared his throat before speaking up.
There's something that only you and I know. And, there are some unique ways that you...
Lie.
The two of them stopped and turned to look at him.
“Who do you think is smarter, me or Martyn?” asked Jimmy.
You’d better play along with me if you want to win this, copper.
“What kind of question is that?” Martyn asked, leaving Scott alone as he returned to his seat with a sigh. “Jimmy, you’re a smart kid. Don’t let the bullies get to your head. Blah, blah, blah…”
“I’m not sure,” replied Scott, sounding as if he regarded the question seriously. “Intelligence is hard to define.”
“…That’s fair,” Jimmy said with a nervous laugh. “I think I can solve the case before Martyn by getting you to confess.”
“Huh?” Martyn looked at him with indifference. “Let me guess. You have some information that I couldn’t possibly know, right?”
Damn it, Martyn.
“More or less…” Jimmy nodded in defeat. “But I’m not going to use it for now. Just—just logic and reasoning, alright?”
Martyn hummed.
“Scott,” he said to the hunter, who was tidying up his messed-up shirt. “You promise you didn’t and won’t tell a single lie about what happened tonight?”
Scott nodded. “Promise.”
“And-and just answer in yes or no. I don't want you to make anything even more confusing…” Jimmy mumbled, tapping his chin and looking up. “Then… Uh, did you kill a human?”
“No, I didn't.”
Scott answered, simply and short.
“The creature… The florist, you let him get away, correct?”
“Yes, I did.”
“And you let him get away… because you were distracted?”
“Yes. That is correct. I wanted to kill him, but I was too busy doing something else.”
“And your rifle was confiscated?”
“You saw it happened, Jimmy.”
“Yes or no?” Jimmy followed.
“Yes.” Scott replied flatly, showing little emotion.
“That is… your rifle, right? That one with a Bible verse printed on it, and also being vandalized.”
“Yes. That is my Barrett M82 prototype.”
“The one and only?”
“Yes.”
“I’m not very familiar with the rules of your unit, so let me be clear: will it be confiscated if you kill someone who isn't a creature?”
“Yes, Martyn can confirm this, although he left before we received the rifles. But yes, all of our weapons will be confiscated if we break that rule.”
“I’ll trust you on this. You mentioned the victim was already deceased when you arrived; is that correct?”
“Yes.”
Jimmy took a deep breath.
“Define… deceased, for me, Scott.”
“His life as a human,” Scott said slowly, “has ended.”
“Alright. Now I need to ask something very important…” Jimmy paused for a moment, then asked, “Did you kill the victim?”
“No.”
Scott responded quickly, wearing a smile. Jimmy was startled at first but soon collected himself.
“…Define kill for me, Scott.”
As soon as he asked the question, Jimmy noticed Martyn gazing at him and letting out a muffled chuckle.
“Ending the life of a human. That's what killing means to me, Jimmy.”
“…Did you…end this victim’s suffering, as a creature?”
“No.”
Scott replied, maintaining his calming smile directed at Jimmy.
…
Bingo.
“I thought so. The rifle will still be with you if you just killed a creature,” Jimmy smiled. “But the rifle is gone. You also didn't kill a human, either, which means—”
“Good lord,” Martyn interrupted with a laugh. “Is that really all there is to it? Scott, you—”
“Martyn, be quiet!” Jimmy said, annoyed. He then turned to Scott and asked, “Now, answer me this, Sergeant Scott Major: Did you end the victim’s life who is caught in the process of turning, stuck between being human and becoming a creature?”
After a long pause, he finally heard a straightforward response from Scott.
“Yes, I did.”
Jimmy heard Martyn let out a deep, long sigh.
“A third option, huh?” The former inspector removed his peaked cap. “Neither a human nor a creature. That’s why they still confiscated your rifle, even though you didn’t kill a human. Rules are rules, mate. Ugh, Jesus… Why do you have to do this to me, Scott? Just—what kind of game are you playing?”
“A game that Jimmy won by wanting to be a smart cookie.” Scott chuckled lightly, “I just want to hear you say you don’t know what’s going on for once in my life, Inspector.”
“Oh, you…” Martyn shook his head. To Jimmy’s surprise, he was wearing that black bandana underneath his hat. “What a dirty trick. Was I really that full of myself?”
After receiving no response, Martyn leaned against Scott and rested his elbow on his shoulder. He gazed at the pentagram in the distance. “So, you really witnessed it? The turning. What a scene that must have been. I’m glad you did it. You’re doing the world a favor.”
“No matter what you think of it,“ Scott replied, allowing Martyn to lean against him. “I ended the life of someone who isn't a creature.”
So, did Joel…
Jimmy raised his eyes to look at the bloodstain as well.
He ran away as soon as he saw Scott, leaving the man behind to die alone.
And… Before he ran, he created all of these drawings?
“When will you start mocking me for my wrongdoings, Martyn?” asked Scott. “Do whatever you want.”
The characters were too crooked to determine if they were his writing, first of all. And that drawing just doesn't feel like…
Joel.
“Yeah, but…” Jimmy decided to add, “he’s not exactly human either. It wasn't your fault, per se. The florist killed him, by your definition.”
However, there’s no proof to suggest otherwise. It seems to be the most logical conclusion, despite the fact that Joel doesn't feel like a witch.
“I did something I never should have done, Jimmy.”
Scott spoke quietly, bringing Jimmy back to reality.
“I guess I really need a rest.” Scott looked at the watch on his right wrist. “I’m about to head home; it’s almost three in the morning.”
It prompted Jimmy to check his watch, which also rested on his right wrist. It was, indeed, nearly three in the morning.
Wait.
“What, do you have a curfew?” Martyn mumbled. “Or are you scared of the witching hour?”
Jimmy lowered his wrist.
He stared at Scott’s watch, unblinkingly.
Scott chortled, “Everything that happened tonight was just a bit scary, don’t you think?”
Didn’t he say that he is right-handed?
“Oh, come on,” Martyn exclaimed in frustration. “Don’t try to be creepy on purpose! We’ve talked about this.”
…
No, he never did. He never spoke these words aloud. He didn't lie, but he isn't telling the truth either.
…What are you hiding, Scott?
“…Scott,” Jimmy said quietly, “Define witch for me.”
“…Huh?” Scott turned to him. He seemed confused. “The witch is the one who started all of these.”
Why does he continue to speak this way?
Is it because he's just…weird?
“…I guess,” Jimmy rubbed his elbow. “There are things in this case I still don't understand. It seems like the florist is the witch, but I knew him fairly well. I know he’s quite impulsive, but he’s not…”
Joel would never bother to write something like that at a crime scene. He usually just throws things around like an idiot and leaves immediately after, letting me or Grian clean up after him.
“Fair point,” he heard Martyn agree. “He’s—Ugh—It’s definitely a bit more hot-headed than this. I don't see a reason why it would write stuff like this.”
“You really knew him well, Martyn?” Scott said with a mischievous laugh. “Is he your new favorite plaything?”
“Scottie…” Martyn buried his face in Scott’s shoulder and moaned. “Jealousy makes you ugly. You know that, right?”
“It’s probably because you are sober. Could you drink a bottle of sake and then call me hot again?”
“N-no! Don't say that!” Martyn quickly covered Scott’s mouth. “We’re not in private! Do you want to lose your job?”
Just as Martyn shouted in pain from Scott biting his fingers, Jimmy finally made a sound.
“Scott… Who vandalized your rifle?”
“…Oh, yeah,” Martyn waved his hands in the air. “What happened?”
“Someone carved a few letters on his rifle,” Jimmy said. “M, A, X, and I. They were written in a strange way…”
“Maxi?” Martyn grumbled. “Is that someone's name? A code of some sort? Or maybe a shorthand for something.
“Who did that, Scott?” Jimmy asked again. “Was it the florist?”
"No," Scott replied, a smile forming as his eyes narrowed.
“Then who did?”
“I told you it’s magic,” Scott replied. “It happened when I wasn't looking. Scary, isn't it?”
“Are you…” Jimmy blinked slowly as he gazed at the fountain in front of them. “Are you telling the truth?”
“Yes,” Scott said, “but I don’t think anyone would believe me, so I didn’t want to mention it.”
“Yep—” Martyn stretched out his arms and yawned. Then he said, wiping his eyes, “Good luck trying to convince anyone, Scottie. I'm not going to waste my time on it.”
“What?!” Jimmy said in disbelief. “Isn’t this something? And that line written in blood—if it wasn't from the florist, then who did it?”
“Probably magic,” said Martyn, nodding. “We live in a world where man-eating monsters exist, and you don’t believe in magic, Jimmy?”
“What on earth are you talking about?!” Jimmy shouted. “What magic?! Martyn, are you really trying to convince me there’s magic?”
“Then stop taking anything Scott told you at face value,” Martyn shook his head, his smile weary. “Do you truly understand what I meant when I said he's heartless?”
“Martyn,” Scott frowned, “I’m still here. I can still hear you.”
“Then tell me what you’re hiding, you little brat.” Martyn jumped onto him and started tickling him again.
As Jimmy grew more puzzled by the situation, still trying to piece everything together, both Martyn and Scott suddenly fell silent. Scott turned his head to look in Jimmy's direction, and Martyn did the same.
But they weren't looking at Jimmy.
Then, Jimmy felt it, too.
At first, it was an uneasy feeling. He sensed something was wrong but couldn't quite pinpoint why. Then, it transformed into a scent.
A peculiar blend of citrus and floral aromas.
It was Joel’s scent.
Jimmy instinctively tried to stand up from the bench, but noticed a hand gripping his shoulder, preventing him from moving. Scott was holding him in place.
“Martyn,” Scott said to the man next to him in a low voice, remaining calm. “Do you trust me?”
“I will never trust you, Scott. I don't trust you as a person, but I trust you as a hunter,” Martyn replied in a whisper. “Tell me what you need.”
“A range weapon. I can't do much in close combat at this moment.”
“Alright, I suppose I’ll be the shield for you.” Martyn opened his riding coat, took out his tranquilizer, and handed it to Scott. “Use it well, Sergeant.”
“Fair enough.” Scott raised the muzzle in his right hand, which held Jimmy’s left arm up as he focused his gaze on the darkness ahead. “Jimmy, are you willing to hold up your arm when I aim?”
“…Do I have to? Do I even have a choice?”
Jimmy smiled awkwardly.
Joel?
He returns?
Why?
If Joel were to attack them, it would be a terrible mistake, not only for himself but also for Jimmy, who was unable to escape from Scott.
Please, God. Jimmy prayed. Let Joel be a little less crazy for once.
As the scent intensified, slow and steady footsteps echoed from the dark woods of the park in the distance. Scott stood up, raising the tranquilizer gun, with Jimmy right beside him. Martyn had taken a step forward, holding a stun gun beside them.
“Show yourself,” Scott announced, keeping the weapon steady in his hand. “This is the Metropolitan Police.”
“Save your bullets, Bobby.”
Emerging from the shadow of the woods, slowly entering the snowy lawn and approaching the sunken plaza was a face that was too familiar yet unexpected.
“Evening, gentlemen.”
Grian.
It was Grian.
He was wearing the same clothes Jimmy had seen him in last time, but they were now stained with blood. The only thing on his body that hadn't belonged to him just hours earlier was the red baseball cap on his head, featuring the logo of a corner shop.
“Inspector, long time no see.” He strolled closer, concealing his hands in his pockets until he was only a few yards away. His dark pupils watched the trio, unblinking. “And Jimmy, how is the night going for you?”
“What—what is this?!” Jimmy yelled in a panic. “Grian, what’s—”
“Oh, Lord.”
Grian cut him off.
He began to pace slowly back and forth in front of them. His eyes remained unblinking, now fixated on the emptiness ahead.
“Truly I am thy servant.”
He continued to speak while the hunter’s muzzle tracked his movement as he walked.
“I am thy servant, and the son of thine handmaid: Thou hast loosed my bond.”
What is it?
Jimmy watched him move, desperately trying to understand what on earth was happening.
Is he… reciting?
“I will offer to thee the sacrifice of thanksgiving.”
Reciting a goddamn Bible verse?
“And, will call upon the name of the Lord.”
Grian suddenly stopped pacing and turned to face them.
Or, to Scott, in particular.
“What is it, Scott?” He asked. “Which verse is it?”
Scott remained silent, his hands steady on the tranquilizer. Grian appeared to be losing patience and quickly drew something from the pocket of his coat.
It was his pistol.
He raised it up, and aimed it toward—
“…Huh?”
Martyn patted himself on the chest.
“Why me? What did I ever do to you?”
“Quiet, Inspector,” Grian said, not looking at him. He then turned to Scott once more. “Which verse is it?”
Scott still hadn’t responded. Grian clicked the hammer and smiled.
“Which fucking verse is it, hunter?”
This time, something emerged from Scott's throat.
“Psalm 116:16-17.”
“Great.” Grian was still holding his pistol, and a smile appeared on his face. “Do you know anything about tarot cards by any chance, hunter?”
“No.”
“Fine. I’ll tell you,” Grian cackled. “Some say that all the cards in the Major Arcana tell a story. A fool embarked on a journey. He encountered a magician, a high priestess, an empress, and an emperor—whatever. I'm getting bored with myself. Then, he faced his first obstacle on the journey after charging forward like a chariot. That’s the eleventh card in the Major Arcana deck: Justice. Remember it, Scott.”
“What are you trying to tell me, Sir Poultry?” Scott said with a smile. “I was never fond of the occult.”
“Is it? But we’re at the witching hour. Maybe you should respect that.” Grian raised his wrist, showing his watch, and shook it lightly. “Justice. Righteousness. Equity. Fairness. I’m sure you’re familiar with these concepts, Bobby. After all, you are the law, aren’t you?”
He lowered his pistol and watched Scott with a cold, empty glare.
“Just remember it in that non-existent heart of yours, and,” Grian said, “have fun for the rest of your night. And Jimmy?”
He turned sharply toward the young man and spoke softly.
“Stay safe.”
He quickly stepped back and began running into the darkness, not gracefully, but at full speed.
“Wait—Grian!”
Jimmy attempted to reach forward but was stopped by the constraint once again. Scott remained still, and he didn't use the tranquilizers.
“Scott!” Martyn shouted. “What are you waiting for? Fire!”
“I can't,” Scott muttered, lowering the gun and shoving it into the pocket of his coat. “That’s a human.”
“What?” Martyn chuckled slightly, unable to contain it. “Fine. Fine. Such a model hunter, Scottie.”
When Scott lifted his hand from his pocket, he was holding a small key. “But that won't stop me from chasing after him, Jimmy,” he quickly unlocked the handcuffs. “You’re free now. Just stay out of my way.”
He wasn't lying. He tossed the handcuffs to the ground and sprinted toward the dark woods where Grian had disappeared at an impressive speed.
Martyn twirled the strap of his stun gun around his finger. He laughed helplessly in the direction Scott was running.
“Well,” Martyn said to Jimmy, who was rubbing his left wrist, “we better catch up. You don’t want to miss anything, right, kid?”
“Stop calling me a kid! You’re 31!”
The trio ran deeper into the park, guided by the pale moonlight. Jimmy lagged behind, coughing occasionally as he struggled to keep up. Scott didn’t stop for him; it didn’t seem like he even noticed. Martyn shot Jimmy a pitying look, which made him bite his lips and push himself to run faster.
The scent lingered in the air, but it felt elusive. At times, it seemed like they were losing track of it, yet it always returned shortly after. Grian was nowhere to be found, and neither was Joel. While that was somewhat comforting, it also made him frustrated.
What are they hiding from me? What the hell even was that? Witches? Are there really witches? When did they learn witchcraft? Why didn't they tell me?
I thought we’re in this together!
Grian!
Boss!
At this point, he just wanted to know what they were planning to do.
An answer.
Anything.
They were approaching the edge of the park, where the area gradually became surrounded by denser woods and a few construction pits in the corner of his vision. He could see the faint lights of buildings and street lamps shining through the trees and the fence. The scent still lingered in the air.
Where are you?
He looked around frantically. Everything was blurred together in his vision. There shouldn't be anywhere for them to run.
Or, maybe Joel just tore a hole in another fence.
This crime was committed by something supernatural after all—witches, creatures, or something else entirely, whatever! These things don't work with logic!
Just as he was about to shout their names, thinking all hope was lost, he saw Scott in the distance, having come to a stop.
Martyn was panting heavily when he caught up with Scott, stopping as well. When the former chief inspector found what Scott was looking at, he covered his mouth.
As he had just discovered something that was shattering his belief.
Jimmy sprinted toward the scene, but Martyn quickly grabbed his shoulders and stopped him with a tight embrace.
“Don’t look, Jimmy,” Martyn whispered solemnly in his ear. “You don't want to see it. Trust me.”
“What?! What is it?!” Jimmy struggled against Martyn’s grip, but Martyn was determined. “What is it, Martyn! Get off me, you son of a—”
When he finally managed to take a peek over Martyn's shoulder, he lost his voice.
In the middle of a small clearing in the woods, a headless body lay peacefully on the snow-covered ground.
He was dressed in a black trench coat, facing downwards. His hands were covered by a pair of white mitten gloves.
A red scarf lay scattered on the ground beside his body.
It was the same scarf that Grian had given him during that thunderstorm.
In the center of the blood pool that formed around a head, there was an eyeball facing upward, as if it had been deliberately placed there. The eye, which had once been a deep brown color, once soft, once hidden behind a pair of sunglasses and featured a slit-like pupil, was now murky and gray.
“BOSS!”
Jimmy roared at the top of his lungs. Martyn let go of him, watching with sorrow in his eyes as Jimmy ran past. Dropping to his knees by the body, Jimmy placed his hands over his mouth.
“Joel… Joel…”
His voice was strained; he doesn't sound like himself anymore.
Tears immediately blurred his vision. Martyn knelt beside him, speaking softly and rubbing his back, but all he could see in the world was the black trench coat.
“…Boss…”
He let his hands drop to his sides and smiled oddly.
This isn't real.
This isn't real.
This isn't real.
He couldn't look away from the body.
He couldn't.
“…I’m sorry, Jimmy.”
He then heard a calm voice; it was Scott's. The sound felt distant in his ears when Scott bent down to grab his arm, trying to help him stand. Jimmy accepted his assistance.
“This is a crime scene now,” he heard the hunter whisper in his ear. “We can't disturb the evidence.”
Jimmy turned toward the hunter beside him, unable to process what he was saying or to form a sentence in response. The hunter sighed and shifted his attention to Martyn, who was still kneeling beside the body.
“There’s nothing you can do, Inspector.”
Martyn didn't respond. He appeared lost in his thoughts and didn't seem to hear Scott's words at all.
“If the scent is still here, he couldn’t have been dead for long,” Scott said to Jimmy, who was trembling in his arms. He gently ruffled Jimmy’s hair and patted his back. “You’ll find the truth, and everything will be alright. Trust me, Jimmy.”
“No, Scott! Scott!” he cried, tears streaming down his cheeks. “Nothing will ever be fucking alright! He’s died! He’s…”
He’s died.
He’s…
“I’m sorry.”
As he buried his face in Scott’s shoulder, he whimpered uncontrollably, hearing Scott whisper to him gently.
“I’m sorry that you have to see this, Jimmy.”
“…Kill them,” Jimmy said through numbness and tears. “Whatever did this, kill them for me… hunter…”
“…Jimmy.”
Martyn suddenly called out Jimmy's name.
Jimmy turned toward the man, his hand deep in the collar of the headless corpse.
Something was held between his fingers, covered in blood.
“Stay away from him.”
Martyn stood up immediately afterward. He opened his riding coat but couldn’t find what he was looking for. Taking a step back from the two, he kept his eyes on Scott, his expression blank.
“Jimmy, stay away from Scott.” Martyn repeated.
Jimmy turned to Scott, who looked puzzled as well.
“What, Martyn?” Scott asked. “What did you find?”
Martyn ignored him and continued to speak to the young man. “You have to listen to me, Jimmy. Get away from him… Jesus, if he even lets you go.”
Jimmy was still choking back tears. “Wha—why?”
“…This is not Joel.”
Martyn uttered.
“What?!”
Jimmy quickly pulled away from Scott, who was equally surprised and released his grip on him.
“He’s wearing a size 14.” Martyn let out a dry chuckle, pointing at the body. “This is not fucking Joel.”
“But—But then who is it?!”
“How would I know?” Martyn laughed harder, shaking his head. “Scott, you fucking cunt. What the hell did you do?”
“I—I did—what?” Scott gasped, holding his chest in shock. “I was literally running with you the whole time!”
Jimmy knelt beside the corpse in a panic and searched for the shirt label that Martyn had found.
It was indeed a size 14.
“How could I be this stupid?” Martyn laughed. “Why didn't I think of that sooner?”
Jimmy lifted his head and shouted in despair, “Martyn, what’s going on?”
“Shush, kid, just stay away from Scott,” Martyn said. He held his chin and started pacing back and forth. “Scott, I don't care what kind of game you’re playing, but you're really messing with my head. Just answer my questions with a simple yes or no.”
“I-I…” Scott stammered, “I don't know… What are you talking about, Martyn… I—”
“Answer me this, Scott Major!”
Martyn ordered.
“Did you only kill one person tonight?”
…
Under the pale moonlight hidden by clouds, the eyes of the bloodstained hunter narrowed into a smile.
“Define kill for me.”
His lips parted slowly.
“Inspector.”
Martyn was initially stunned into silence. After a moment, he began to laugh.
“Ending a human life, ending a creature's suffering, or something in between—Scott, Scott, Scott.” He was struggling to contain his laughter, then said through gritted teeth, “or whatever twisted definition you have in mind. Answer my question, did you only kill one single person tonight, Sergeant?”
“No.”
Scott answered, his smile grew brighter.
“I didn't.”
Jimmy rose from the ground, wiped his face, and stared blankly at Scott. Scott stood still beneath the night sky of the witching hour, smiling peacefully.
“Did you kill a human?”
Martyn asked.
“No, I didn't.”
Scott replied.
“I already answered this question.”
“And you kill only one person that's turning?”
“Yes, that is correct.”
Martyn let out a cold laugh.
“Did you kill a creature tonight, then, Sergeant?”
“Yes, I did.”
Scott nodded.
“I did. How long did it take you to ask this question, Martyn? Did you know how long I have been waiting?”
“A creature?” Jimmy quickly glanced down at the body. “Is it him? Who is this?”
Scott shrugged and said, “It’s a victim of the witch.”
“You can't ask him like this, Jimmy. We have to play by his rules,” Martyn shook his head. “Does this headless body belong to someone we know?”
Scott lifted his chin and looked up for a moment. He appeared to be deep in thought.
Then, he said, “I can't answer this question.”
“Why?!” Jimmy shouted. “Why can't you answer?”
“Because I’m just a human,” Scott chuckled. “My abilities are limited.”
“He's saying that he doesn't know, for God's sake,” Martyn said, shifting his gaze away from Scott. “There's a possibility that we may have met this creature before, and he doesn’t have any confirmation. But that doesn’t mean it's a yes, so this is definitely not Joel.”
Jimmy released a breath he had been holding and then collapsed to the ground.
This isn't Joel.
He chortled feebly.
“When did you kill the creature?” Martyn declared. “Was it before or after the victim?”
“Come on, Martyn,” Scott giggled, “You’re bullying me. I can't answer that with a simple yes or no.”
“Scott! For God’s sake,” Martyn grunted. Then he asked, “Did you kill him before the victim?”
“Yes.” Scott nodded.
…Before?
“At the same plaza?”
“Yes. That is correct.”
Jimmy lifted his head toward Scott. Suddenly, a terrifying idea crossed his mind.
There was only one solution to this strange situation. There was only one other creature he knew tonight that had any connection to this mess.
That driver.
Who refused to turn his friend and attacked him brutally, prompting Joel to sacrifice his own flesh to try to save a life.
And Joel… Where is Joel?!
“One creature? That’s it?” He asked Scott quickly. “You only killed one?”
“That’s a yes, dear Jimmy.”
“But... it’s two against one,” Jimmy said, grabbing his hair. “How did you...?”
“Who do you think he is?” Martyn interrupted with thin patience. “That’s the top hunter at Scotland Yard. If he can't even handle a two-on-one fight, London is in trouble, kid.”
“Oh, Martyn,” Scott said, “that’s far too flattering. I’m going to blush.”
Then where’s Joel?
Knowing that Scott wouldn't answer if Jimmy simply asked, he began to tug at his hair in distress. Observing Jimmy's frustration, Martyn turned to Scott and said, “You claimed that Joel left. You said he went deeper into the park, and yet you didn't fire a single shot at him. Is that statement true?”
Scott nodded. “Yes, great memory as always, dear Martyn. Everything I said about tonight is true.”
“Did you…” Martyn continued, sounding somewhat hesitant. “Did you let him leave… on purpose?”
“Yes, I did,” Scott replied. Then he turned to Jimmy and said, “I did something I should never have done. Do you remember? I wasn't referring to the turning one. In that case, there's no point in saving it. The only thing I shouldn't do as a hunter is let a creature loose.”
Joel is somehow allowed to live by the hunter, but for what reason?
“You didn’t fire a shot at him, you said,” Jimmy mumbled. “But why didn’t he fight back? He’s… Joel. I would expect him to at least try to tear you to pieces. Is…” Suddenly, something clicked in his mind. “Is he wounded?”
That’s the only possibility.
“Yes,” said Scott.
“Did you do that?” asked Martyn.
“No, I didn't.”
Then it must have been—
“This creature,” Jimmy pointed at the corpse, “attacked Joel, didn't he?”
Scott answered, “Yes.”
It must be it. This creature, for some reason, returned to the plaza after the attack, perhaps feeling remorseful for what he did, just like when Joel showed up outside of Grian’s ICU.
Jimmy wanted to laugh.
It’s their own Camden, so it seems.
Then, finding his dear friend was turned by Joel, he—
“Was Joel… in bad condition?” Jimmy asked quietly.
“Define bad condition for me, Jimmy.”
“Like—like,” Jimmy threw a hand in the air, “can he walk?”
“No,” Scott shook his head. “He wasn't even conscious. Yes, Jimmy, he was in bad condition.”
“Then how did he leave?”
“So that the familiar of the witch is lost.” Scott stared at him with a soft smile on his face.
It grated on Jimmy’s nerves. In a surge of anger, he lunged forward, but he was promptly caught by Martyn.
“Jimmy, calm down,” Martyn whispered when he pushed him back. “You know you can’t win a fight against him.”
“Yes, you can't,” Scott nodded, his hands in his pockets. “That statement is true. Even if you work with Martyn, you can't win a fight against me.”
He seemed confident.
No, he is confident.
“Then what’s helping Joel?” Martyn asked quietly. He then spoke to Scott, “Did you help him?”
“Define help.”
“Did you assist him in leaving the scene? For example, did you carry him somewhere else?”
“No, I didn't.”
“Someone else did,” Martyn muttered to Jimmy, a smile emerging on his face. “Jimmy, someone else saved Joel.”
“Are you saying—”
Jimmy also broke into a smile.
Grian.
Grian, you followed us.
God, of course you did, you son of a bitch.
“Is there… Let’s see,” Martyn said, holding his chin. “Tell me if this statement is true or not, Scott: There are five individuals tonight at the crime scene: Scott, Joel, the victim, this creature, and Grian.”
Scott seemed delighted. “Yes. That statement is true. You are almost at the truth, Martyn.”
“Just how many fucking people are there?” Jimmy giggled uncontrollably. “Was Grian wounded?”
“No, he wasn't. He was very well.”
Then what?
What happened next? Why did Scott spare Joel's life and allow Grian to carry him away?
And what was the magic all about?
He tried to replay everything he had encountered in his mind, searching for a clue. Scott stood there, watching them in silence.
“You didn’t draw the pentagram?” Martyn’s voice snapped him out of his trance.
“Yes. I didn't.”
“And it’s not Joel, either?”
“No, he was unconscious. I already told you that. Also, neither of us wrote that line.”
“Oh,” Martyn clapped his hands together. “So it leaves us with one capable man at the crime scene. Grian drew the pentagram and wrote that line, didn’t he?”
Scott laughed and said, “Yes, I watched him do it. He was having a lot of fun; I can tell you that.”
Grian, having fun?
Well, he does seem like the type of person who would enjoy drawing a pentagram.
“And did he…” Jimmy asked, “craved the letters on your rifle?”
“I can't answer that question,” Scott tapped his cheek. “And I've already told you why.”
“It happened when I wasn't looking,” Martyn said under his breath. “He doesn't know.”
“So it’s Grian… He carved it behind your back,” Jimmy squinted his eyes shut. “Why would he do any of this?”
“It’s meant to hinder my witch hunt,” Scott replied, lowering his hand. His smile faded.
“Let’s try asking properly, kid.” Martyn shrugged and asked Scott again, “Did you ask Grian to draw the pentagram?”
“No, I didn’t, and that’s all I will say about this question.”
Scott seemed bitter.
Then why? Why is Grian doing all of this? Why didn't Grian tell them anything when they met? Why was he talking in—
Riddles?
“Do you remember what Grian told us?” Martyn glanced at Jimmy. “It was some Bible verse, right? And what comes after that?”
“Tarots?”
“What’s the card?”
“Justice, in Major Arcana—”
M A XI
Jimmy gasped.
“The eleventh card.”
Martyn murmured.
“That’s not Maxi; that’s Major Arcana 11. I bet he didn't have time to crave anything else, so he's using shorthand.”
A Justice reversed.
“What a malicious thing to do,” Scott said, shaking his head. “From now on, every time I use my rifle, it’s going to curse me for all eternity.”
Then, the next thing to ask, is—
“Why did Grian talk in riddles?” Jimmy muttered. “Why does he have to use tricks like this to say he’s the one vandalizing Scott’s rifle?”
“Because…”
He noticed that Martyn’s complexion had turned pale. Martyn looked at Scott, who was now wearing a smile again.
“He can't tell us directly.”
The smile remained on the hunter’s face almost the entire time.
And the hunter, that never left their side.
“Scott,” Martyn chuckled dryly, “did you make Grian do something for you?”
Scott raised his hand to smooth his hair. He replied, "Yes."
“Why would Grian ever listen to you?” Jimmy raised his voice. “Was it Joel? Did you use Joel to blackmail him?”
“No,” Scott said, lowering his hand and fixing his gaze on Jimmy. “I didn’t.”
Then—
…
Who else is important to Grian?
…
Isn't that obvious?
So fucking obvious.
“You…” Jimmy said, his voice trembling as he chuckled uncontrollably. ”You used me.”
“Yes.”
Scott nodded.
“That statement is true, Jimmy.”
“That’s why you chained me to your side until you saw Grian,” Jimmy continued, nearly in tears. “You—you did that—you—you bastard—”
“Come on, Jimmy,” Scott replied calmly to his outrage, “we had a good time, didn't we? I even told you about the Piggy Book. And you were so sad for me, remember?”
“Oh, come on!” Martyn slapped a hand on his thigh. “I told you to stop lying about the Piggy Book! It makes me sound like a monster!”
“…Lie?”
It struck Jimmy like a truck.
Scott could…lie?
“You—you lied—”
“The Piggy Book did happen, but I wasn't crying when I wrote it,” Scott said as he tapped his chin. “Martyn insisted I stop because he was concerned about my well-being, but I wasn't even that tired. Oh, right! Let me tell you, Jimmy, every word on that page was perfectly written.”
“It was,” Martyn let out a laugh, “It was bloody terrifying.”
Jimmy shouted, “But Scott, you said—”
“I said I haven't told a single lie about what happened tonight, and I never will.” Scott took over, “But that doesn't mean I won't lie about the past. You see, I play my game fairly.”
“But—But the friends—you told me—”
“Do I really look like I need that?” Scott laughed, shaking his head. “Do I look that pathetic to you?”
Martyn started laughing as well. Then, with a helpless tone, he said, “You’re just born this way, Scott. No matter how many years I spent trying to change you—trying to make you laugh, make you mad, or make you sad—you never changed. You’re just… a heartless monster.”
“Ouch, Martyn,” Scott patted himself on the chest. “I have a heart. Jimmy just told me so. It’s beating as we speak, isn’t it?”
A deep sense of disgust welled up in Jimmy’s stomach.
“It’s a way to get you to help me, dear Jimmy,” Scott continued. “Otherwise, you wouldn’t try to help me win over Martyn with insights that only you could have—using, what’s your phrase, ‘logic and reasoning’? What a hero, Jimmy.”
“Why do you need to—”
“Because it’s my game, and I get to decide what I want to play,” Scott interrupted him impatiently. He then raised his hand and pinched his fingers in the air. “You’re this close to the truth. Come on, you can try harder. It’s two-on-one, or should I say, six-on-one?”
He began to cackle to himself, but then his face wore a bored expression.
What else?
What else do we miss?
Jimmy looked over at Martyn, who seemed to be on the same wavelength.
What is Grian being forced to do?
“He craved the letters on Scott’s rifle. He tried to speak in riddles to make us realize he was the one carving it. He wanted to tell us he was in cahoots with Scott. Then he ran away…”
Martyn caught himself before he could finish his sentence.
He just stared at Scott, not speaking another word.
“He ran into the woods, carrying something that has Joel’s scent...”
Jimmy knelt down and stared at the eyeball lying on the ground.
“Is it… This?”
He pointed a shaking finger at it.
“Yes,” Scott replied. “I think it is.”
“Because…”
Martyn spoke in a low voice. He let out a self-deprecating laugh.
Grian was trying to warn us… not to follow him.
“Because you want us here, right, Scott?”
“Yes.”
Scott said.
A chill ran down Jimmy’s spine.
“Did you set a trap?” Jimmy sprang up from the ground and scanned the area. There was nothing he could see, just woods.
“He doesn't need a trap,” Martyn whispered. He smiled weakly and shook his head. “He can kill us at any moment if he really wants to.”
“Yes.”
Scott said gladly.
“This statement is true.”
“But I was literally chained to you when Grian saw us. There was no way for me to escape.” Jimmy quickly said, “So he wasn't trying to warn me; he just wanted me to stay safe. It’s because…”
…
Jimmy gasped.
…
“Martyn!”
Then, Jimmy roared.
“Run!”
He immediately noticed that Scott was reaching his right hand downward toward his pocket, where the tranquilizer was located. Without thinking twice, Jimmy lunged forward, seizing Scott's right arm.
Scott, in response, just used his left hand to grab it and fired.
“Sorry, Jimmy.” He lowered the dart gun and said to the young man beside him, “I’m ambidextrous.”
Jimmy turned to the former inspector. Martyn, now with a dart embedded in his collarbone, was staring down at it.
“…I’m sorry, Scottie.”
Martyn whispered.
“I’m sorry that I left.”
He slowly sank to the ground and collapsed.
“Martyn!”
He reached forward, but Scott aimed the dart gun at him, causing him to stop.
“Scott…” he said in a trembling voice, choking as he pleaded, “but you said you wouldn't hurt a human…”
Scott tilted his muzzle slightly, looking confused, and held up his face.
After thinking for a moment, he said something.
“Define a human for me, Jimmy.”
“…What…” Jimmy felt tears rolling down his cheeks, and he couldn't help but smile strangely. “Scott…are you fucking insane?”
“A human,” Scott said, ignoring the insult. “It’s hard to define what it means to be human if you're not one, isn’t it? We’re all so very different. But since I'm a human, I can make this argument: everyone who is equal to me is also a human. Am I right, Jimmy?”
Jimmy couldn't answer. Tears were once again blurring his vision.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” Scott continued happily. “If my previous argument is valid, then I can make this argument as well: everyone who is not equal to me is not human.”
He then focused on the man sprawled in the snow near the headless body.
“Martyn,” Scott said gently, “he's not human. He was never my equal; he was my mentor and my teacher. He shaped my personality, taught me what to believe and what to reject. He taught me how to hunt and how to think. Then, he just left, and for the first time in my life, I think I actually felt something.”
Scott turned his attention back to Jimmy.
“I hate him to the bone, and it’s such a wonderful, wonderful feeling, Jimmy. To feel the hatred I have toward someone who gave me a new life only to abandon me and leave me in the dust is truly amazing. It’s marvelous—no, it’s magic. We don’t refer to someone who can perform magic as merely human, do we?”
Scott smiled.
…
The one who started it all.
“We shall call upon thee the name…”
The one who created the monster known as Scott Major.
“Of a witch.”
Scott lowered the dart gun and threw it onto the snowy ground. He didn't seem concerned about Jimmy at the moment, leaving Jimmy stunned in silence.
“After he was proven wrong,” Scott said, bowing down to pick up an object from the snow, “by someone as ordinary as you, Jimmy—and I'm not trying to be negative,” he chuckled, “his magic is waning. Now seeing that his new favorite plaything has died, he has lost his familiar as well. The witch hunt will then be complete.”
He picked up the eyeball.
Joel’s eyeball.
Its scent lingered in the air. He turned it over in his fingers and raised it toward the dim moon.
“Do you want to know what I’ll do with it, Jimmy?”
“No…”
Jimmy said in a tremor.
“I still want to tell you this because I don't have friends anymore,”Scott said, laughing to himself. “I can’t kill him like this. No matter whether I want to call him a witch or not, I’m a hunter, and I don’t kill humans.”
He tossed the eyeball into the air and caught it mid-flight.
“I've made my decision. I'm going to give him a new life, just as he gave me. And I'll watch him scream, watching him burn in pain, watching him tear his insides out with his bare hands—”
He knelt on the ground beside Martyn.
“After that… I’ll bring an end to his suffering, ever so mercifully.”
He raised Martyn's collar.
“What a beautiful tie, dear Martyn.” He started pulling it back and forth. “This time, will you truly be the first person who has been both a hunter and a creature?”
He brought the eyeball closer to Martyn’s face.
“…Scott…”
Jimmy let out a weak plea.
“…Don’t…”
And, then.
That uneasy feeling.
Was gone.
Just as it seemed to appear from nowhere, it vanished just as suddenly.
So did the scent.
It was gone.
Scott’s hand stopped.
The hunter raised up his head and looked around.
He found nothing.
They were still the only ones in this small clearing among the woods.
“Huh.” He stood up from the former inspector and tossed the eyeball in the air once more, tilting his head. “It’s dead?”
Upon receiving no response from his surroundings, Scott dropped the eyeball, no longer acting like the source of that scent, to the floor as if it were a piece of junk.
“Grian, what did you do?”
He dusted off his hands and stretched out his arms.
“You did put a curse on me.”
He looked around at the chaos surrounding him and let out a loud, disappointed sigh.
“Jimmy,” he said, turning his attention to the young man, who had dropped to the ground and was gasping for air. “I’m sure Sir Poultry will pick you up.”
He then bowed down, extending his arms towards his former mentor.
“…What…”
Jimmy murmured.
“My plan has failed,” Scott admitted frankly. He lifted Martyn with ease, resting Martyn’s head against the crook of his neck. “I’m taking him back to my flat for a good night’s rest. His health isn’t great. Someone needed to look after him after the tranquilizer.”
“What are you…?”
“Everything will be alright, Jimmy.”
The hunter replied, gazing down at the sleeping person resting in his arms with a gentle smile, as if he were cradling the most precious treasure in the world. Scott pulled Martyn’s head closer to his face and placed a soft kiss on his forehead.
“We play like this often.”
Notes:
I'm back!!
Art works by @mi3-14 when I was gone:
https://www.tumblr.com/mi3-14/794583356077752321/spoilers-of-ua
https://www.tumblr.com/mi3-14/793322536927674368/art-for-ua
https://www.tumblr.com/mi3-14/791568765937696768/spoilers-of-urban-appetite-thanks-to-julius-for
https://www.tumblr.com/mi3-14/790512601677299712/kind-of-ua-spoilers
https://www.tumblr.com/mi3-14/787493667948642304/ua-related-stuffThank you dear mi <3
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Cinder (Guest) on Chapter 1 Wed 12 Mar 2025 05:59PM UTC
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A_Lonely_Demon on Chapter 1 Sat 15 Mar 2025 02:48PM UTC
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