Chapter Text
It was just after 11pm and the seasoned detective Chase Anderson was hunched over his desk once again, something that’s became a habit as the seemingly endless stack of cases piled up on the edge of his desk.
“An easy job they said.. it’ll be over and done in an hour they said,”the detective grumbled to himself.
The once perfectly organized desk had been reduced to a cluttered mess, with pens scattered about, papers strewn all over, and sticky notes stuck in odd places.
The detective grabbed a case file from the top of the daunting stack and skimmed through it once, twice, skimming the lines for something he could have missed.
It was his most recent case but one of the most puzzling things he’s come across in his entire career.
The case may have looked simple at first but at second glance it was quite unusual. The victim was an affluent businessman by the name of Benedict Wells who was well known in the world of crime. He specialized in acquiring the deadliest of weapons from overseas and was a big supplier to the well known mafias in the area. But these deals were hard to come by, only a select few were chosen to work with him and they had to offer something in return; money, power, etc, he named the price.
The victim was found at 7am the previous day, Sunday morning, in an old alleyway across the street from his office building. Forensics labeled time of death around 2am and the cause was multiple stab wounds to the chest. The murder weapon, a simple kitchen knife, was found lodged into the victim’s chest the blade facing his body as if self inflicted. The handle was oddly spotless, the only fingerprints found were belonging to the victim.
To any normal person it would have seemed like your average suicide. He probably got ratted out to the police and the only way to keep his secrets safe was to end it all, right?
Wrong.
The detective thought of this and checked the local police databases but no reports were made to the man. Although his line of work wasn’t the most conventional, it was all done legally so the police had no warrant to go after him.
So who was out to kill the businessman? A dissatisfied client? A rival company? A vengeful adversary? The questions tumbled out of his brain like a waterfall, each without an answer or clue as to why.
The only real clue was CCTV footage recovered from the night of the crime. It was conveniently missing a chunk between the hours of 1 and 2am which would have been when the victim was killed. But the strangest part was what happened a few hours later at 6:45am: a woman was found to be crouched over the body, appearing to rummage through the victim’s coat pockets. She crouched over him, just poking around as if searching for something for specific until the police arrived 15 mins later.
When they got there, police reported that as soon as she spotted them the woman stood up quickly and fled the scene. The police, still in shock, had no time to react and as they tried to chase the woman she had already disappeared as if vanishing into thin air. They didn’t get a good look at her face since it was still rather dark in the old alleyway and the only clue left behind was a small hairpin with a moon ornament.
The detective watched the video over and over again, searching for something—anything really that could be of significance, but nothing made sense.
He tried zooming into the video and he managed to catch a glimpse of the woman’s face although it was very pixelated.
“It’s the goddamn 21st century can’t we invest in some decent technology?” The detective mutters under his breath.
He clips the photo of the woman’s face and emails it to his team to see if they can identify her but he’s not expecting much luck.
Most would assume the killer was the woman found at the scene but the detective knew it wasn’t that simple. He had solved his fair share of cases and the answer was never that easy.
It was unlikely the murderer would return to the scene of the crime that late in the morning anyway. They wouldn’t be that careless right?
The detective closed the case file and tossed it aimlessly onto the desk. His buried his face in his hands, the exhaustion of the day finally catching up to him as the clock on the wall rang midnight.
He had no leads and the only way he was going to get some answers was if they found that woman….
The detective ended up falling asleep at his desk and was jolted awake around 3:30am by a call from one of his team members. He stretched his back, a bit sore from falling asleep hunched over, and grabbed his phone to answer the call.
“Do you even know how early it is right now?” he grumbled, still feeling half asleep.
“Uh boss we got a lead on the case..”
His eyes became more alert, had the detective gods finally answered his prayers? “You did? What is it? Tell me now.”
“So we found out who the woman was in the video.. it’s Evelyn Blackwell“
the leader of the most notorious mafia in town...
Notes:
woah first chapter guys :00
Chapter 2: Coffee Addicts Are Not To Be Messed With
Notes:
only those with a death wish mess with Chase's Keurig..
Chapter Text
“You have got to be kidding me. Of course our only suspect runs of a major crime syndicate,” the detective groans, banging his head on the desk.
“I mean let’s look on the bright side Chase, we’ve been tracking the Blackwell mafia for decades and we finally have solid evidence against them. This case should be a piece a cake right?”
“You’re being too optimistic Sinclair. Nothings ever a ‘piece of cake’ around here,” he grumbles at the man on the phone.
Oliver Sinclair was Chase’s most trusted associate at the police department. He was the backbone of the team and mostly ran things from behind the scenes. Him and Chase met at the police academy and quickly became friends—or rather Sinclair wouldn’t leave him alone and Chase just accepted his fate.
To get to the point, if you needed something done Sinclair was your guy.
“There’s no way the Blackwells would slip up that easily. They’ve been carefully covering their tracks for decades, there has to be something we’re missing.” Chase gets to brewing a cup of coffee since despite the early hours there’s no way he’ll be sleeping anytime soon.
“Oh my god Chase don’t tell me you’re still at the office.” Sinclair hears the tell-tale sign of Chase’s precious Keurig whirring to life through the phone.
“Don’t act so surprised, I practically live in this damn office.”
“Y’know there’s a thing called vacations Chase.. I think you should try one sometime before you burn out.”
“Jokes on you I’m already burnt out.” Chase chuckles dryly, taking a sip of his freshly brewed to perfection coffee. “My soul is dead at the ripe age of 25 lucky me.”
“Most peoples bodies are 70% water but I think yours is 70% coffee,” Sinclair teases. “I’m surprised that Keurig is still working after all these years.”
“are you dissing my Keurig Sinclair.”
“I would never dream of it, please don’t kill me”
“Hmm… you’re safe… for now.” Chase takes an exaggerated sip of his coffee, the loud slurping punctuating his words.
“Only you could make drinking coffee sound threatening.”
“I’m gonna take that as a compliment.”
“Chase you look like a mess why don’t you take the day off,” Sinclair comments as he walks into Chase’s office. It was 6am, the time where employees were “supposed” to come to work but since crime doesn’t take a vacation it wasn’t surprising to see people already there. Or in Chase’s case, he was just a workaholic who was too busy to go home.
“Days off aren’t part of my vocabulary,” Chase mutters, sipping on his 3rd coffee of the day.
Sinclair puts his briefcase down on the desk and takes the seat in front of Chase. “So what’s the deal with the Blackwell situation? The next thing to do would be to summon Ms Blackwell in for questioning.”
“And how do you suppose we find the whereabouts of the most notorious mafia leader in the state.”
“Actually her mansion is over on Parkview Boulevard. I pass by it on my way to work every day.”
Chase just stared at him, an incredulous look on his face. “You can’t just casually say that you pass by the residence of a mafia boss on the regular??”
“It’s common knowledge around here. It’s more weird that you *didnt* know that,” Sinclair chuckles, helping himself to a cup of coffee from the still hot pot Chase had brewed earlier. “Besides, there’s this nifty little thing called the public records that’ll tell you alllll about the personal information of our residents. You should try it sometime Chase, it could prove to be quite helpful.”
“Yeah yeah I know what public records are idiot don’t act so smug,” Chase grumbled. At an attempt to save face, he pulls up the public record for Evelyn Blackwell and to no surprise she did live over on Parkview Boulevard. Damn it Sinclair do you have to be right all of the time.
Compared to most residents the page for Ms Blackwell was pretty meager, just a house address and a phone number. The police had no way of knowing if this information was even accurate or not—although they suspected the latter—but there was nothing they could do about it.
“Well considering this stuff is even correct let’s send out a summoning letter to Ms Blackwell. She’s our only suspect so I’d like to get her in for questioning asap.”
Three days later, thanks to the express shipping fee Chase forked out from his personal funds, the letter ended up safe and sound in the mailbox of Evelyn Blackwell.
A letter from the police was not something she was expecting on a Thursday morning but then again nothing was ever normal in her life.
“A letter of summoning to the police for interrogation? Interesting..”
She skimmed over the letter and it didn’t explain much, just that she was being charged with something and she was to report to the police station tomorrow afternoon.
Great, just what I need right now, more trouble.
But you know what they say, where Evelyn goes, trouble follows…
Chapter 3: Halloween Special
Notes:
happy halloween 🎃
gonna try to have a more consistent posting schedule so hopefully there will be monthly updates but no promises chat
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
It was a crisp October night, the cool autumn breeze blowing gently as the sky faded from orange-yellow to a deep purple. It was Halloween night and children began to fill the streets, costumes adorned and an excited twinkle in their eyes. The detective found himself once again at his second home—his dreary office at the police station—but for once he wouldn't by staying the night. The lonely detective had found himself with plans for the evening—shocker I know—and all because of that insolent woman who'd wormed her way into his heart.
He had gotten himself an exclusive invite to the most anticipated event of the year, courtesy of the host herself, to the annual haunted house at the Blackwell mansion. The Blackwells were an elite family, rumored to run the not-so-local mafia off the outskirts of town, and despite being feared for 364 days out of the year they hosted the best Halloween parties the town had ever seen.
The detective packed up his things into his briefcase: loose leaf papers scrawled with notes, annotated cases he had yet to complete, and his favorite thermos that seemed to always have one last sip of coffee at the bottom. As he left the office he got quite a few stares from the other officers. The detective pretty much lived in his office so him leaving the station a whole hour early was as expected as watching pigs fly. He remembered when he asked his boss last week if he could have early leave and the man practically jumped for joy, having nagged him for years about taking time off.
As the detective crossed the parking lot it was strange to see it so full of cars and he missed the peacefulness of the desolate parking lot he often walked out to. As reached his old but “still works perfectly fine” car, the parking spot beneath it had grown a small layer of dust from his car practically never leaving it.
The detective wound his way through the scenic roads to the nice part of town, glancing at the expensive homes he knew he could probably afford but never wanted. The Blackwell mansion was at the end of the small neighborhood, the grandest and most extensive of all the other homes, a polished iron gate wrapping around the perimeter. They had one of the butlers standing guard at the gate, acting as crowd control for the upcoming event. The butler was a sweet old man, one who'd worked for the Blackwells for decades and the detective knew him well enough that he was let in immediately with nothing but a kind smile and an "Enjoy your evening Mr Anderson."
After parking the car he headed inside, an extremely cliché costume he got roped into wearing—Dracula of course—in hand as he shouldered open the cracked open front door. Inside the mansion was a lavishly decorated ballroom where the masquerade ball was held, the haunted house located outside this year and covering a majority of their land.
The ballroom was dimly lit, setting up the spooky ambiance for the night's events. The decorations were expertly placed, cobwebs artfully dangled from the shiny gold chandeliers, bouquets of tiger lilies and decorative pumpkins filling any blank spaces, and small tables piled with plates of snacks.
Ms. Blackwell herself was frantically pacing the ballroom, pointing out things to be fixed and meticulously straightening things that were already straight, her entourage of staff chasing after her like baby chicks to their mother. The detective chuckled and crossed the room to the table she was at, taking her hand to pause her anxiety cleaning.
"Evie you've been straightening that candle for the past 10 minutes. I don't think anyone will notice if it's 10 degrees too far to the left."
Evelyn scoffed, giving him a deadpanned look. "Oh please, like you've ever thrown a party. And—Oh my god you're not even wearing your costume. We only have an HOUR left, Chase you are so insufferable."
“Do we have to do this, I mean Dracula is so cliché and we could just hide upstairs away from all the—“
“NO. You’re going to put on that costume and we’re gonna stand by the door and greet the guests, like good hosts. Got it?”
Chase sighed and mumbled a reluctant yes. He was a smart guy, pissing off someone who ran a mob probably wasn’t the best idea.
After an agonizingly long hair and makeup session Chase was finally free from the confines of Evelyn’s vanity. They were dressed as Dracula and his wife (who cares if Dracula didn’t have a wife) and you could definitely tell who put more effort in between the two. Chase was wearing a cheap Halloween costume, the colors artificially bright, the stitching in uneven lines, and the cape had the texture of a plastic bag. Evelyn however had more of a closet cosplay, an intricate wine red corset with black accents and lace, with a matching skirt that billowed just above her ankles, a jet black velvet cape, and enough accessories that she looked like she robbed a jewelry store (she clarified they had all been purchased through legal means..).
The two took their place at the door off the mansion, welcoming guests to the masquerade ball and pointing out the entrance of the haunted house. Chase could feel his social battery running dangerously low, he was going to need more coffee if he wanted to survive the night of forced smiles and getting elbowed in the ribs when his façade started to slip.
The party was going quite smoothly, screams of terror could be heard from across the lawn as children ran as fast as their little legs could carry them out of the haunted house, while their parents enjoyed a night of child-free fun at the masquerade ball, the soft music being heard all the way outside where the two were standing.
It was nearing midnight, the last few minutes of Halloween coming to an end, and the clouds were beginning to shift, inch by inch revealing the milky white glow of the full moon.
Evelyn checked her watch,11:58 pm, in just 2 short minutes she will have thrown another successful Halloween party, a smug smile on her face as she thought of being the talk of the town for the next week or two—for something not crime related for once .
As the seconds ticked down the clouds shifted further apart and the last remnants of the full moon came into view. The moonlight shined brightly, lighting up the yard with its almost fluorescent glow, but there was something on the ground.. something that looked vaguely familiar
A high pitched scream pierced the silence.
The clock rang midnight.
The remaining 8 people out on the yard circled around the cause of alarm. Evelyn shot a glance at Chase before they shouldered their way through the crowd.
And what the two saw barely fazed them—perks of their lines of work.
The body of a young woman dressed like a black cat, dollar store cat ears haphazardly hanging off her head, blood pooling around her lifeless limbs, a kitchen knife, the type you’d carve pumpkins with, sticking out of her stomach, staining the black fabric a dark red.
“Even on my day off I can’t escape work,” Chase chuckled grimly.
Wherever Evelyn went trouble followed—or should I say death followed.
There were 8 people circled around the body, not including Chase and Evie, and they had various expressions ranging from horrified to morbid curiosity.
Chase pulled out his pocket notepad, something he never left the house without, and shifted into detective mode, diligently taking notes on things like cause of death and witnesses. He ranked the 8 people on a scale of 1 to 10 with 1 being squeamish and 10 being weirdly fascinated.
1. Cheshire Cat and Alice
2. Pirate dude
3. Witch girl
4. Batman and Robin
5. Cowboy
6. Clown Girl
The clown girl was seriously creeping him out, the red painted smile only adding to the unsettling gleam in her eyes as she stared down the body with morbid interest.
The detective tore his gaze away from the strange girl and turned to Evelyn, putting her in charge of making sure none of the suspects tried to escape.
Then, Chase interviewed them one by one in the order he’d decided previously, starting with the Alice and Cheshire Cat girls, who appeared to be friends from the way they were huddled together like penguins in the winter. He led them to a little seating area on the front porch of the mansion, an elegantly crafted set of chairs and a table, painted white with gold trimming. At closer inspection the furniture was obviously worn, some paint chipping around the legs of the chairs, and a faint stain on the pristine white tablecloth, likely a result of the infamous Blackwell tea time. If they weren't descendants of the Italian mob, Chase would have assumed they were British with all that damn tea they drink, it practically runs through their veins.
But Chase couldn't be talking, he drank the average man's week's worth of coffee in a single day—single sitting on bad days.
The two girls timidly sat across from the detective, slight shivers racking through their bodies, likely due to shock setting in.
"Alright ladies let's make this as painless as possible shall we? What were you doing before you discovered the body?"
The girls glanced at each other briefly, as if silently deciding who would take one for the team and speak up, before Cheshire Cat cleared her throat and spoke in a shaky voice.
"Well we were um.. we were going through the haunted house y'know and like it was super scary but it was still fun too and Mary Anne here could not shut up she screams like a total girl—"
Mary Anne sharply elbows Cheshire Cat in the side. "He doesn't wanna hear you yap Jennifer just give him the goddamn details already."
"Yeah yeah I'm getting there hold on a minute," Jennifer rolled her eyes. "Anyways before I was so rudely interrupted, we had just gotten out of the haunted house and we were walking back to the mansion cause I wanted to check out the snack selection at the ball. I remember checking my phone cause we have a curfew of 1am and it was like 11:55 I think? Anyways we got here to the mansion and there was like a fight going on or something? It was like some dude in a black cloak beefing it out with the black cat girl and then she let out a scream and fell to the ground. And uh yeah I think that was it."
Chase jotted down some notes in his notebook:
-Alice and Cheshire Cat left haunted house
-arrived around 11:50
-man in black cloak
-time of death 11:57-12am
He didn't bother writing down names, just their costume descriptions. It was his personal belief to never humanize the suspects, strictly keeping them to names on a paper. With the exception of a pesky mafia boss he'd grown to love, nothing good ever came out of getting attached to the suspect.
"Did you see anything else about this mysterious man? Like what direction he went or any other clothing he was wearing."
Cheshire cat shook her head, "It was too dark to see anything but it looked like he ran off behind the mansion."
Great, now we have a killer on the loose with a house full of partygoers.
Chase resisted the urge to bash his head into the table. Can’t I have one goddamn normal night in this town. Alas the woes of conspiring with the enemy..
“Thank you for your cooperation in this investigation,” Chase muttered monotonously. “Please call that drunk looking pirate guy over next.”
As the night dragged on, the suspects all said something along the lines of 'cloaked man fighting with the victim before she was killed,’ yada yada yada ‘ran behind the house.’
This was such a stupid case he couldn’t believe someone would be dumb enough to commit a murder in plain sight—on the most popular night of the year at that—and scurry behind the mansion like a little baby.
It was a personal pet peeve of his; stupidly committed crimes. Chase was always telling Sinclair that people are so stupid nowadays, doing stuff in broad daylight, leaving behind evidence like a bread crumb trail, and oh would you look at that fingerprints left behind on the knife again. God was it that hard to put on some damn gloves??
Sinclair would always joke around saying “Well maybe someone’s doing it on purpose to mess with you, like some big joke to piss you off. Honestly I’d pay money to see that.”
Wait a goddamn minute.
Fucking Sinclair.
Oh he was so going to get it.
From across the lawn, where the other suspects were gathered, Evelyn could practically see steam coming from Chase’s head, like those cartoon characters that get angry and their head is about to explode.
“Which one of y’all pissed him off,” she murmured, cracking a smile at the sight of the detective stomping down the porch stairs and around the house.
Chase trudged along the recently mowed lawn, the dry stalks of grass, victims of the approaching winter season, crunching beneath his feet. The mansion was wider than he thought, the walk taking him a solid 3 minutes to get around the back. Chase was slightly breathless from the excursion (but don't tell anyone, desk work hindered his stamina ok..).
He peaked around the corner and there he was, the mysterious man in the black cloak leaning against the wall, a glass of red wine in those plastic orange wine glasses Evelyn had insisted on buying, even though they looked utterly ridiculous in his opinion.
The man pulled off his hood revealing none other than Sinclair in all his smug glory. “Well look at that, figured it out already huh~”
Chase couldn’t even be mad, a smile peaking at the corners of his lips at the sight of his friend’s grin. “Yknow, you’re lucky I didn’t call the real cops on you buddy. Murder is not laughing matter,” he rambled off in a faux serious voice, index finger out like the nerd emoji.
“Yeah yeah, like you’d ever call in for help, ’Mr. Backup Is For Losers’.
The air quotes mocked him but Chase chose to ignore it.
“Now why would I wait 10 years for those imbeciles to get their act together when I could do it perfectly fine on my own, hm?” He rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath, “I swear you’re the only competent person in the detective department.”
Sinclair chuckled, taking another swig from the wine glass. “You sure got that right—HEY WHAT THE—“
Chase snatched the glass out of his hand and downed the rest of the wine in one big gulp, wiping his mouth with the sleeve of the cheap vampire costume.
“What the hell man? Swiper no swiping :( “ Sinclair huffed, crossing his arms and pouting like a child.
“Oh shut up, I need it more than you do after that ordeal you put me through. And Evie is gonna be pissed at you for fucking up her party so I need to pregame.”
Despite the surrounding darkness of the night Chase could see Sinclair’s face paling, the gears turning in his head as he forgot one crucial rule.
“Oh shit..”
“Oh shit is right. Looks like you didn’t think that one through all the way did ya buddy?” Chase smirks, watching the play-by-play of karma in action.
Sinclair had broken the number one view in their small little town: don’t piss off Evelyn Blackwell.
Chase pulls back the fabric of his barely sewn together sleeve, pretending to check a watch. “Well it’s about time we had back, don’t you think? We shouldn’t keep them in suspense now should we.”
Sinclair lets out a nervous chuckle. “Oh cmon Chase can’t we deal with this in the morning? I mean it’s getting late and I think we should call it a night—“
“Oh no you don’t,” Chase grabs his arm and tugs Sinclair around the house, heading back to the scene of the crime.
It was quite the struggle but 5 mins and many failed bribery attempts later, Sinclair and Chase made it back to the clearing where the other suspects were gathered.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we have our killer,” Chase calls out, a nervous looking Sinclair trying to hide behind him.
To say Evelyn was pissed would be an understatement.. If Sinclair wasn’t their friend he would probably be dead.
For the next 15 or so minutes Evelyn was clocking his shit, going off about how murder is no laughing matter and you’re going to get me in trouble yada yada yada. Oh and don’t forget the party, Sinclair was one wrong move away from absolutely shattering the beloved reputation of the Blackwell Halloween parties, and he definitely wouldn’t have made it back in one piece if that happened. Sinclair was cowering in his black cloak, head nodding rapidly and the occasional “yes ma’am” and “I understand” slipping from his lips when necessary.
During the ordeal the other suspects quietly left the scene, not wanting to get caught in the crossfire of a pissed off mafia boss. They weren’t needed anyway so Chase let them sneak away.
It was well into 2 am by the time things settled down and most of the guests had left the party already, while those who lingered were most likely drunk and half asleep.
The trio gathered in a circle, an awkward silence falling over them. “So you’re uh, not gonna kill me right Evie?” Sinclair blurted out in a shaky voice.
Evelyn sighed before shaking her head. “Despite how irresponsible your little stunt was, I have to say it definitely made the night a little more interesting. I think it’s safe to say the Blackwells have thrown yet another successful Halloween party.”
By 3 am the guests had all left and the housekeepers as well as Evelyn, Chase, and Sinclair stayed behind to help clean up. It was almost impressive how such a small little town could make this big of a mess.
Lost pieces of costumes, assorted crumbs and chunks of food, as well as those stupid orange plastic wine glasses, were strewn across the floor of the ballroom in a haphazard mess.
Chase was discreetly trying to gather all the wine glasses to throw them away when Evelyn’s voice cut through the silence.
“Yknow, I gotta hand it to you Sinclair, that dead body was pretty convincing. Where’d you find such a good scare actor?”
Sinclair just stared at her in confusion. “What do you mean dead body? I didn’t hire anyone.”
Chase just stared at him with wide eyes. “The fuck you mean you didn’t hire anyone? Who the hell is outside then??”
“My prank was that I bought plastic witch fingers and snuck them into the refreshments.”
“THEN WHY DIDN’T YOU SAY ANYTHING WHEN WE SHAMED YOU FOR MURDER?”
Sinclair shrugged, “Idk man I thought y’all were just joking.”
Chase buried his face in his hands. “Oh for the love of—so you’re telling me that girl out there is REAL?”
“I’m starting to think you guys are the ones pranking me, what’s all this nonsense about a dead body?” Sinclair questions. Chase and Evelyn take one look at Sinclair’s confused face before sighing and telling the story of the night’s events.
“Holy shit, you mean there’s actually someone dead out there and the killer just happened to be wearing the same outfit as me? That’s one hell of a coincidence,” Sinclair murmurs.
“We should probably dispose of it then. I don’t want a dead body marinating on my front lawn.” Evelyn briskly walks out of the ballroom heading for the front door.
The other 2 follow suit and as they step out into the crisp autumn night, searching for the path of grass wear the girl laid.
“And how exactly are we going to be disposing of this body?” Sinclair asks.
“Don’t question it buddy. You don’t wanna know,” Chase mutters.
They walked around for 5 mins but there was nothing to be seen, not a trace of any human—alive or dead.
“Wait guys, I think I see something over there.” Evelyn points to a rumpled patch of grass to their right.
But they approached the area there was nothing there…
All that remained of the black cat girl was a dark red stain in the grass.
cue twilight zone music
✩₊˚.⋆🕸️⋆⁺₊✧
Notes:
lmao this is so all over the place but thats what you get for writing something over the course of two months
for all my lore nerds this isn't relevant to the main plot it would take place after the story ends and yeah i know we're only 2 chapters in but i can write whatever i want ok :3
Chapter 4: Operation: Entering the Wolves Den
Summary:
"So curiosity brought you here hm? Didn't curiosity kill the cat?" Chase quipped, twirling a pen around idly.
"Cats have nine lives,” Evelyn retorted, the hint of a smirk on her lips.
"I suppose you're on your last if you came here."
Evelyn scoffed, "Can we get on with this, I’m a very busy woman y'know."
"Witty and impatient I see." Chase huffs under his breath before shifting through some papers on his desk searching for the police report.
Notes:
this bad boy has been marinating in my notes app since august 😔 had a bit of writers block with this one
hopefully more regular updates in the future :3
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
It was another gloomy day, not even a glimpse of sunlight to be seen and the light drizzle seemed to have no end in sight, like a leaky faucet that won’t stop dripping. The forecast was quite fitting for today’s events and despite this being Evelyn’s favorite type of weather, she was too focused on the thoughts plaguing her mind to enjoy it.
She made her way through the doors of her mafia headquarters, her heeled boots click-clacking on the polished floor as she wound her way up to the top floor of her office.
To any ordinary passerby the building looked like any other, just a simple Victorian style with 3 stories and painted with dark colors. It was simple enough to not stand out at first glance but there was something about it that made people uneasy.
That and the unspoken rumors that it was owned by the mafia….Yeah not the best thing for property values.
The building was located along the outskirts of town, close enough to make its presence known but far enough to keep its secrets hidden. Surprisingly, there had only been a handful of civilians brave enough to try their luck at entering the building over the decades and all they were met with was a corner cafe and an uneasy atmosphere, almost like the building itself could know you didn’t belong.
The first floor was essentially a lobby with a small cafe bar to the side and some small couches and seating to the left. It was created as a “precaution against unwanted guests” but any senior members knew they kept it running because the Blackwells had unhealthy obsession with tea time.
From the outside the building doesn’t look very big but the inside is quite extensive with many hidden rooms and winding hallways, built intentionally to confuse and distract. Since all the workers are basically trained killers, security isn’t an issue, the rumors are enough protection.
Evelyn made it to her office, elbowing open the unlocked door and slumping into her desk chair, tossing the letter from the police on her desk. There were 2 options she could go with, the goody two shoes option: cooperating with the police to clear her name (which considering her track record wasn’t likely to happen) or the easy option: bribing the cop to drop the case, which has never let her down before. Evelyn was leaning towards the latter, she wanted to get this mess cleaned up and tossed out before garbage collection the next day, but then again, being on the good side of the police could prove useful.
As she was deep in thought, her 2nd in command and most trusted friend Dean Campbell waltzed into her office, that stupid smirk he always wore plastered on his face, and a cup of tea in Evelyn’s favorite tea cup in hand.
“Why if it isn’t my lovely boss Evelyn, what has gotten into you this morning? Willow said you didn’t even stop for your morning tea are you feeling all right? Or are you finally recovering from your tea addiction?” Dean teases, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he placed the teacup on her desk.
Evelyn rolls her eyes at him. Willow was the barista of their lobby cafe and possibly the sweetest girl alive. She’s like a little ball of sunshine, serving up coffee and little sweets with a smile and had won over the hearts of everyone at the office. But don’t let her small frame deceive you, Willow can shoot almost as well as their senior assassin Scarlett and they don’t have her in charge of the lobby for no reason.
“Oh shut up Dean, we have a serious problem here.” She tosses the letter in his general direction before taking the teacup and taking a small sip. Earl Grey have I missed you..
Dean takes the letter with a raised eyebrow and skims it over, his face darkening as he reaches the end. “Shit you’re right, this is bad. What have they got on us?”
“Dunno, the letter just says to show up to the station asap so it could be anything really.” Evelyn rests her chin on her palm thinking of anything the mafia has done recently that could possibly get them in legal trouble. They hadn’t killed anyone recently and business had been pretty slow as of late so she wasn’t really sure what it could be, but then again their entire existence was illegal so maybe the consequences had finally caught up to them.
“Maybe it was that shipment of weapons we got in last week?” Dean ponders while pacing around the office, a habit he’s picked up that supposedly ‘helps him think better.’
“I doubt it, we get shipments all the time and there’s no way our guy sold us out. Plus if we go down for something as minor as a gun shipment my parents are gonna kill me.”
Dean snickers, “Your mom and dad will be rolling in their grave if the family business goes down for a cargo haul.”
“My parents are not dead Dean, they retired and moved back to Italy.” Evelyn buries her face in her hands. “Ugh can you be helpful for once and think of a plan or something.”
“Well we could always go mafia style and shoot up the place…”
Evelyn gives him a you’re-two-seconds-away-from-getting-beat look. “We need to stay on the good side of the police you idiot.”
“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to pay them a visit. And if it was something we did it could be good to have an inside man,” Dean ponders as he continues pacing back and forth, back and forth, like a metronome.
It was giving Evelyn a headache.
Before she could lash out, Dean, the ever observant one, sensed his boss’s increasing exasperation and ceased his pacing.
After much deliberation and an emergency meeting with the senior members the group reached a consensus: the Blackwell mafia would be paying a visit to the police.
Or Operation: Entering the Wolves Den, as Dean so lovingly coined it.
And approximately 22 minutes later the polished silver Lexus arrived at the dilapidated police station, an old building looking the size of a small house with cracks running up the sun bleached concrete like vines—but nothing a fresh coat paint couldn't fix. The parking lot was in further disarray, the asphalt crumbling away at the touch and the lines of the parking spaces barely visible in the glaring afternoon sun.
The car pulled in beside a humble looking Toyota and Evelyn wondered if it was abandoned from the thin sheen of dust coating the parking spot beneath.
"I could have driven myself y'know," Evelyn muttered, crossing her arms over her chest. "You have better things to do than carting me around like a personal chauffeur."
Dean shrugged, a hint of a smirk on his face. "Can't a guy want to get out of the office for a bit? A paycheck is a paycheck and I'm on the clock."
"And who's in charge of determining your paycheck? If you even deserve one at all, running up the company card with your Doordash orders.”
"... that was a low blow Evie."
Evelyn rolled her eyes, "I told you not to call me that. And just stay in the car I'll be back in a bit."
Dean offered a reassuring "don't get kidnapped <3," while Evelyn exited the car and ventured into the one place she never thought she'd step foot in: the police station.
She tried to wear something business casual, wanting to look professional but not too suspicious. She decided on a simple black dress, short enough to draw attention and long enough to not be informal. Underneath she wore a white long-sleeved button down, sleeves pushed up to her forearms, and paired with a simple black tie and black gloves. Her hair was done neatly, flowing in simple golden-brown waves past her shoulders, a small ponytail being held together by her signature black bow.
As Evelyn stepped in the door she unsurprisingly turned heads, a mafia boss voluntarily stepping into a police station was not a common occurrence.
She approached the front desk, a tired looking woman tapping away at a computer, a mug of coffee in hand and dark circles under eyes. "State your business," the woman spoke monotonously, not even bothering to glance up from her computer.
"I'm looking for a Mr. Anderson."
The woman continued typing. "Down the hall, 3rd door on the right." Her eyes never left the glaring screen of her monitor.
"Thanks.." Evelyn made her way down the hall glancing at the other officers in their work cubicles. There seemed to be a common theme; everyone looked extremely exhausted, like they hadn't slept in weeks. It wasn't like there was much crime around here, they were a quaint suburban town in the middle of Maine and the local mafia next door deterred any conspiring delinquents.
3rd door on the left? Or was it the right?
The offices all looked the same, blinds covering the windows and no sort of identification to what might be inside. Her heeled boots clacked on the floor until she reached an office with a little white sign labeled “Detective.”
Close enough, she figured and knocked on the door.
One
Two
Three seconds passed.
A weary voice responded, “Come in.”
Evelyn stepped inside to a cramped looking office, the only furniture that could fit being a worn mahogany desk strewn with papers in organized-ish piles, a newer looking black bookshelf with small notebooks and professional looking textbooks neatly lined in a row, a couple small succulents living on top of the shelf and looking surprisingly well taken care of, and a small table with the bountiful supply of every coffee addict’s dreams; a polished Keurig with a fresh pot of coffee already brewing under it, bulk size containers of coffee beans, and a small shelf with an assortment of mugs and a mini basket of restaurant style creamers and sugars.
Evelyn thought the officers outside were tired but the young man sitting at the desk looked like death himself in terms of exhaustion. His white button up was wrinkled, sleeves pushed up to his forearms. His brown vest was half unbuttoned, a small gold pocket watch dangling from the pocket. His copper colored hair was messy and sticking up in places and his eyes looked thoroughly exhausted.
"Are you Detective Anderson? I was summoned here today," Evelyn tosses the letter onto the desk.
The detective picks up the letter, studying it carefully. "Ah yes, Ms Blackwell. I wasn't even sure you'd show up to be honest."
Evelyn scoffs, crossing her arms as she takes a seat in front of the detective. "I wasn't going to but I figured I'd see what this was all about. You could say curiosity led me here today." Evelyn crossed her arms over her chest, trying to appear apathetic and nonchalant despite the worries flooding her brain. There was a very real chance all their crimes over the years had finally caught up to them and this could be the day Evelyn Blackwell went to jail.
The detective looked up from the notice letter—he didn't even know why he was looking it over, he was the one who wrote it—and glanced at Evelyn giving her a once over.
She wasn't what he expected and he couldn't help profiling her; young—around his age possibly?—relatively pretty, and a hardness to her eyes that he was all too familiar with, the kind of gaze that only results from getting hurt one too many times. There was also a hint of nervousness, like the way her foot tapped against the old wood floor rhythmically, or the way her gaze moved about the room rapidly, likely gathering information on him—a fruitless attempt as he wasn't a sentimental guy.
But he couldn't keep staring. That would be weird.
"So curiosity brought you here hm? Didn't curiosity kill the cat?" Chase quipped, twirling a pen around idly.
"Cats have nine lives,” Evelyn retorted, the hint of a smirk on her lips.
"I suppose you're on your last if you came here."
Evelyn scoffed, "Can we get on with this, I’m a very busy woman y'know."
"Witty and impatient I see." Chase huffs under his breath before shifting through some papers on his desk searching for the police report.
“Ah here we go. Ok Ms Blackwell according to this little paper you are being accused of murder in the second degree of a man named Benedict Wells (author note: it’s ok if you don’t remember him I didn’t either lmao).”
He also held up a plastic evidence bag with a small hairpin embellished with a moon. “We also found this at the scene of the crime, I’m guessing it’s yours?”
“Huh so that’s where that clip went, I’ve been looking for it everywhere,” Evelyn murmured, trying to keep her voice steady.
Chase picked up on her increasing signs of nervousness, his gaze on her full of suspicion. “From that look on your face I’m guessing you knew about this already.”
Evelyn’s eyes darkened. Yes she had known about Benedict’s murder—quite well deserved in her opinion—but she’d never go as far as killing the guy. He was the most successful weapon supplier the Blackwells had ever come across and they wouldn’t dispose of an asset like him so easily. But would the police even believe her? It’s not like they had much leverage to begin with and this guy seems like a real pain in the ass.
“And what evidence do you have against me? Innocent until proven guilty y’know,” Evelyn huffed, trying her best to keep the allusion of nonchalance.
Chase diligently typed away at his laptop and a few minutes later turned it around so she could see. On the screen was a poor quality video of a woman that looked suspiciously like Evelyn rummaging through the suit of Benedict’s dead body.
God damn it, I knew doing that would be a bad idea. But I needed it back. I couldn’t let the police get ahold of it.
“And how exactly is a 480p video supposed to prove I’m a murderer?” Evelyn scoffed.
Chase sighed and pressed a key on the laptop to zoom in on the video. “This is obviously you, you’re the only one that wears a black bow every day. You’re wearing the same one right now.
Lo and behold the bow in the video matched the one currently perched on Evelyn’s head, right down to the moon charm on the end of the ribbon, the Blackwell family crest.
“…Well maybe the perpetrator has good fashion sense? Bows are a common accessory..”
Chase just stared at her unconvinced. “Look, you can deny all you want but this is the only evidence we have so far and you’re the prime suspect so I’m going to need you to cooperate.”
“Why should I trust you. It’s not like anyone believes me anyway… I didn’t do this and I’m better off letting the Justice system run its course,” she mumbled.
“I believe you.”
Evelyn blinked once. Twice. “What do you mean you believe me, you’re the enemy?? You’re not supposed to believe me you’re supposed to put me in jail.”
Chase takes another tired swig of coffee. “Trust me, you’d definitely be in jail by now if I didn’t believe you. Everyone else around here wanted to just throw you in the cellar and call it a day but I had a feeling there was more to this than it seemed. I put myself out on a limb here so would it kill you to cooperate a little?”
Evelyn sat there stunned. The enemy wasn't the enemy? Then who was the enemy if the enemy wasn't the enemy? Was she the enemy? Wait no that couldn't be right. Gosh this is so confusing.
"Uh... are you ok?" Chase's voice snapped Evelyn out of her spiraling.
She cleared her throat and forced herself to get it together before replying, "Y-yes, I'm fine."
"Alright, so let's try this again. Are you going to cooperate or shall I just throw you in jail right now?"
"...I suppose."
Chase nods at her agreement and pulls out his handy dandy detective notebook, a small pocketbook encased in rich brown leather that was thoroughly worn and cracking at the edge. He flipped to a new page, one close to the end, and the lined paper was a warm off-white, similar to the collared shirt he was wearing. "Now, Ms Blackwell I want you to tell me everything you know about Benedict Wells, how you know him, if he works for you, anything that could be useful."
Evelyn quickly texted Dean that he might as well go home. It was going to be awhile.
"Benedict had been working with my family for as long as I could remember. Him and my father were old friends back in Italy and when we heard he was living here in Maine, Benedict was willing to offer us his services.
He was a very wealthy businessman with connections to people you wouldn't even believe were real. But in the Underground, he was most known for his ties with the Italian Mob, and his ability to smuggle anything and everything into the country, for the right price of course.
My family used him as a weapons supplier for decades—nothing too serious just guns and stuff—and he always delivered on time. I don't know how he does it, and honestly I wouldn't want to know what sweet talking he uses to obtain this stuff, but as long as it benefited us we didn't ask questions."
Chase nodded as he finished up his notes. "I see. And how did you feel about him? Did you like him? Do you know anything about his personal life?” He asked without looking up from the notebook.
Evelyn’s eyes darkened. No, she did not like Benedict. But she couldn’t just say that, that would incriminate her even more. She couldn’t say that he deserved every wound the killer inflicted on him. She couldn’t say that she hoped it was a painful, torturous death filled with agony. She couldn’t say that she was a little jealous someone else had gotten to have all the fun—
“Ms Blackwell. Answer the question please.”
Right.. the question… what was it again?…Oh right, what I think of Benedict.
“I didn’t… particularly like him. We were strictly business partners and I only talked to him when absolutely necessary.”
Chase continued writing without looking up. “If you hated this guy so much why did you keep working with him?”
“Well hate is a strong word. But my feelings didn’t matter, I had to do what was best for my family’s business and however..” Evelyn paused, choosing her words carefully. “However… infuriating Benedict was, he was damn good at his job.”
“Is there anyone specific who would have the motive to kill him? Any enemies? Failed business partners? Seven evil exes?”
Evelyn chuckled at the last option. “That man has had so many side pieces I doubt he’s ever even been in a relationship. As for enemies, I suppose everyone is your enemy in the Underground, we aren’t exactly buddy-buddy with each other.”
Chase finished up his notes and set his pencil down. “Well, that didn’t really help much. But you gotta start somewhere.
Evelyn glanced out the small window behind Chase. The once bright yellow afternoon sun was dulling into a deep orange, the telltale sign of the evening approaching. Gosh, how long have I been here?
Chase follows her gaze behind him and notices how late it’s gotten. “The sun sure goes down fast around this time of the year. It’s only 5:30.”
“Well that’s March in Maine for you. Am I allowed to leave or must I subject you to more of my origin story.”
“Yes I suppose I’m done with you for now.”
“For now? What more do you want, this isn’t a therapy session.”
Chase taps away on his computer, pulling up his calendar. “Are you free on Friday? I was thinking we could investigate Mr Wells’s house if you know where he lives.”
“Hold on, why do I have to help you. You’re the detective, that’s your job.”
Chase looks up from his computer, his gaze serious. “Now Ms Blackwell, a road runs both ways, if you want to make this work you’re going to have to hold up your end of the deal.”
“And what is this deal you propose Mr Anderson.”
“In exchange for your aid in the investigation, I’ll keep you from getting thrown in the slammer for the duration of the case. In other words, a bit of your time and energy for protection.”
Evelyn thinks for a moment. It’s not like she has many options and it seems like a pretty good deal. Dean isn’t going to be happy we’re helping the police… but I’m the boss so I can do whatever I want.
Evelyn reaches out her hand towards Chase. “You have yourself a deal Mr Anderson.”
Chase shakes her hand with a small smile. “I look forward to working with you Ms Blackwell.”
“Until we meet again detective.” Evelyn rose from her seat and saw herself out.
Chase mentioned something about "...Friday.....2pm," but Evelyn wasn't paying attention, she was more focused on getting out of here. She still didn't fully trust the detective and she wouldn't feel safe until she was far away from the police department.
As Evelyn was making her way through what she hoped was the exit, she noticed the once tired looking officers occupying the small cubicles were absent, the office eerily quiet. It seemed like that detective was the only one left.
I didn't think they closed so early. But I guess there's not much work to do around here anyway.
The glowing red exit sign was like a beacon of hope, the light at the end of the tunnel.
Evelyn had never felt so happy to see that run down little parking lot.
But the only car left was the average looking Toyota. That silver Lexus—her pride and joy—was nowhere to be found.
Where the hell did my car go? Did someone steal it? I swear to God if someone keyed my car I'm gonna actually kill someone—
Oh wait
Dean has the car…and I told him to go home.
Gosh my memory is really starting to go lately…
Luckily the police station was only a 20ish minute walk from her mansion so Evelyn set out on her hike back home. The sun was starting to set, the deep oranges now dark blues and purples as dusk settled in.
Most women would be afraid to walk alone at night but most women weren’t mafia bosses so Evelyn wasn’t particularly worried.
That is until about halfway into her walk she could sense someone following her—a man no doubt. She could see his shadow on the road next to her, tall, lanky, about 6ft or close to it compared to her own smaller shadow. She could hear the tell-tale crunch of sneakers on a gritty sidewalk getting closer and closer.
This poor young man thought he could get some easy money tonight, but he would be sorely mistaken.
The man's footsteps loomed closer and Evelyn figured she should probably confront him before things escalated. She didn't want to get jumped after all, that would ruin her hair.
Evelyn stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and spun around to face the man, putting on her best cold-and-totally-serious-mafia-boss face. The lighting was dim, the street's only source of luminescence from a dimming lamp post directly under them.
The man stalking her looked quite young—late teens, early twenties she figured. He was also quite ugly in her opinion, long face with beady little eyes, greasy blond hair that was overgrown and messy, and a predatory smile.
He didn't seem to recognize her. A pity.
"Young man, it's getting quite late, do your parents know where you are," Evelyn commented innocently.
The man smiled wickedly, "Cut the small talk lady. Let's make this nice easy and just hand over your purse for me hm?"
"I'm afraid I can't let you do that."
The man grinned wider, if that was even possible. He took a few steps closer, his hand reaching out to grab at her black Chanel shoulder bag. "Now, now, let's not make a big deal out of this. Just hand over the bag and no one gets hurt alright lady?"
Evelyn's gaze hardened at the sight of this little punk's grimey little paws about to tarnish her favorite bag. Oh no. Not on her watch.
Before the man could even blink Evelyn's fist was colliding with his right cheekbone, a sensible right hook that landed with accuracy. The man fell to the ground, gazing up at her with wide eyes.
“W-what the hell?”
Evelyn scoffed. Scum like him disgusted her. “Don’t touch my stuff. And it’s not lady, it’s Ms Blackwell to you.”
The man’s face paled as he recognized the name. The way he trembled slightly as he realized how screwed he was. He opened his mouth, probably to beg for mercy, but Evelyn interrupted him.
“If I hear about you pulling a stunt like this on any other woman again, I will not hesitate to put you on our hit list. And don’t bother running We will find you.” Evelyn spoke coldly, her no-nonsense act of authority plastered on her face.
The man nodded rapidly, “Yes, yes, I promise I won’t do it again, please don’t kill me.”
Evelyn gave him a curt nod before spinning back around and continuing her journey home. She tiredly brushed some hair out of her face, the day’s events finally catching up to her.
Gosh, can’t even get a night of peace around here can I?
Notes:
welcome to episode one of author yapping about her love life (or lack of one) in the ao3 end notes
on saturday author saw mystery boy at prism (kind of a winter showcase at my school) and he sung a little song. he was in the back and he looked so tiny and cute omg 🤭
and to my awesome bestie that was also in prism you did so amazing diva 🫶
ALJIKLU2888 (Guest) on Chapter 1 Sat 20 Sep 2025 10:13PM UTC
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leeeeee_bit on Chapter 1 Sat 20 Sep 2025 10:55PM UTC
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I💝leeeeee_bit’sstory (Guest) on Chapter 3 Fri 31 Oct 2025 09:56PM UTC
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leeeeee_bit on Chapter 3 Fri 31 Oct 2025 10:11PM UTC
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ILOVELEEBITSSTORIES (Guest) on Chapter 4 Tue 16 Dec 2025 12:27AM UTC
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