#↷ kieran talbot ﹙ threads ﹚

[horrorphase]

…                      he already knew the answer, already knew that taylan might be capable of terrible violence, but he wasn't a killer. or at least that was the wish of someone who yearned to clear the dust off old photographs, nostalgic for a time when they were still young together, never quite innocent but still boyishly unaware of the slow decay of their flesh and bones. but a lot could have changed with taylan in the last seven years, couldn't ignore that the slaughter had only now began with his return, couldn't ignore that he was wearing the mask donned by who he believed to be the killer ⸻ and there was no room for the ache of childhood memories when blood had been spilled, only objectivity. he needed to know. he needed to know. he needed to know. but kieran still cared for taylan enough to go straight to the source of his worries. the desire for truth led him to worse places and worse choice before, but someone was dead and it was already well past curfew by the time he was hoisting himself up over the window sill, the edge biting into the curve of his palms, leaving shallow dents that should fade by sunrise. kieran moved with urgency, before some cop on patrol could notice him, wedging him in : uncomfortably contorting his long and wiry body, one leg first, then the rest, until his grip faltered and gravity took its chance. the room's darkness and the streetlight outside blurred as he tumbled forward, landing in a graceless heap on the hardwood floor, the thud echoing sharply. and for a split second, kieran just laid there, dazed and breathless, staring at the ceiling as if it had wronged him. but he was already pushing himself up on one elbow, muttering a string of curses ( and a prayer that the noise wouldn't wake selin ) under his breath, when his vision finally adjusted and caught sight of taylan, a smile tugging on his lips ⸻ sweet and verging on a laugh because, of course, taylan would still be awake. kieran could barely remember a time when he had fallen asleep before midnight. but this wasn't a time for reminiscing, quickly reminded by why he was here in the first place. and kieran was nothing if not honest. “ i saw the boogeyman tonight. wearing the same mask as you. chased after him for blocks and blocks. and he wouldn't have done that if he was just some guy wearing a costume .... ” said as he pushed himself to his feet, brushing off the dust from his jeans with a feigned casualness that felt hollow. he shifted his weight and leaned back against the wall, the cool plaster biting through his thin shirt, grounding him in this surreal moment. “ was it you ? ” gaze cast on taylan, it'snothimit'snothimit'snothim, but kieran just needed to hear it from him for his own peace of mind. “ i don't think you're a killer. so, tell me you're not. ” @ofvolatile

[enternights]

𝖫𝖮𝖢𝖠𝖳𝖨𝖮𝖭　:　alaina price's backyard, 5pm 𝖲𝖳𝖠𝖳𝖴𝖲　:　closed for kieran talbot @gorebound

alaina  price's  death  had  marked  a  violent  shift  in  the  town's  collective  disposition.  everyone  was  on  edge,  trust  became  a  luxury  that  some  wouldn't  even  grant  their  own  kin,  and  the  streets  at  night  were  virtually  desolate  for  fear  of  becoming  the  boogeyman's  next  victim.  angela,  of  course,  saw  this  as  an  investigative  opportunity.  she  had  no  theories  (  yet,  )  but  she  had  a  strong  feeling  that  this  unfortunate  crime  could  be  tied  to  daniela's  disappearance.  she  peers  through  the  sliding  door  into  alaina's  home,  the  setting  sun  casting  a  golden  hue  against  its  pristine  interior.  the  forensic  cleaners  certainly  made  sure  that  no  spot  was  left  begrimed;  if  she  didn't  know  any  better,  she  wouldn't  believed  that  such  tragedy  ocurred  inside  of  it.  she  wonders  if —  in  twenty  five  years  time —  this,  too,  would  be  buried in history.  “  how  much  trouble  d'ya  think  we'd  get  in  for  breaking  into  an  active  crime  scene?  ”

[horrorphase]

…                      an immediate drag was taken as soon as his cigarette caught flame, smoke permeating in his lungs and into his bloodstream to lull the disquiet underneath his skin. “ no need to thank me, but am not revealin' any of my secrets unless it's off the record, miss floyd ... ” smoke haphazardly puffed out in a dry laugh, simple smalltown politics 101. the things he did in the dark, in secret, made him enough of a liability to his family if they ever come to light. and divulging his own suspect list would just be another nail in the coffin ⸻ reflecting on his last name, alienating whoever he'd name if effie published his theories, jeopardizing his father's reach and influence in a town where reputation was everything. but maybe they could have an agreement one day, a mutual confidentiality, because he was only just a man at the end of the day : he'd spare the minutes, even the hours, to hear what kind of dark, tangled theories a pretty woman like her kept buried in that mind of hers. kieran fell into step beside her as soon as she began walking, believed that she could probably handle herself in the face of anything, but it was like he had anything better to do anyway. he already knew sleep would elude him tonight, so might as well get his steps in. “ i'm probably headed for the bar later. make sure my sisters aren't gettin' into too much trouble. ” a shrug, taking another drag to let the warmth of chemicals line up in lungs, the only foolproof defense he had against the biting cold of october breeze. “ but i guess you could say i'm snooping. ” a fleeting smirk as he glanced at her ⸻ damon might have distracted him from his agenda, but kieran couldn't let this night be entirely fruitless. “ just thought i'd take a stroll, y'know ? see what's lurking around the corner. you never know when and where you catch a glimpse of the killer unmasking. ” he canted his head then, his gaze sliding over to meet hers fully, lingering a second too long. “ ... or what other dangers you might find. ” a subtle smile played on his lips, dragging his gaze back to the sidewalk. “ but i'm sure your mind's already racing with the next big headline, miss floyd. any guesses on who our latest victim is ? ”

the direct and casual tone catches her off guard. even has her voicing it atypically : " oh. " it's amusing, really. the nonchalance. the ability to voice opinion, one based in earnest or not, without batting an eye. a stray thought comes to mind: kieran should make a podcast or try putting his opinions to paper. might be a damn hit. " should i thank be thanking you for that? i mean, really, this isn't some sort of indie horror flick. but, hell, you're making me curious who you are suspicious of. that's just the writer in me though. " effie's earnest at least, but she is wondering what's on his mind, who. it might even be useful to jot down— consider it for herself. yet, out of good manners, she doesn't press.

eyes flicker down to the unlit cigarette leaning close. the unspoken request met with her own lean. cigarette between her lips she lights it with the butt of her own. obverses him over it quietly. a creature of habit she is. ends it with a long drag and a collection of her bag while she stands. " thank you. i'm not really ... scared, but i don't think i want to cram myself into the bar like everyone else is. that'd really be what wigs me out. not enough room to breathe. " she adjusts her purse against her shoulder, slowly walking in the direction her apartment rests. eyes cast upwards a considerable distance. effie's never felt small before, but it's hard to ignore just how looming kieran was. that's a frame she'd never want to see in a dark hallway — a horror flick — only his shadow visible. " i have to ask though ... were you headed home or trying to snoop? no judgement. i'm no better sometimes. "

[horrorphase]

ꜜ ﹙ ⚰️  ﹚ ﹕ this was certainly a brand new low for red creek, the register's newest print turning the publication from a respected news source into some smalltown tabloid. and yet, despite the lack of any journalistic integrity or actual investigative content, kieran couldn't just ignore its subject ﹕ bronte dubois, someone he had never really trusted, photographed having an argument with daniela estrada. thoughts were nearly consumed by all the theories running amok in his head, gaze transfixed on the newspaper on the counter, until the bell above the pharmacy's entrance chimed as another customer left. “ sorry. ” he muttered, stare moving from the image to the pharmacist, unsure how long he had been standing there just lost in his thoughts. “ here to pick up my prescription. talbot, kieran nathan. ” but he just couldn't stop thinking, couldn't stand the knots twisting in his stomach, feeling like he might just suffocate and drown if he left his thought be unspoken, unheard⸻ easier to see things in different perspectives once they had rolled off your tongue. “ bronte fits the bill, doesn't she ? ” said nonchalantly, gaze returning to the headline and the photograph underneath. “ nurses like her— they're exactly the type. angel of death, they call it. thirty percent of all female killers work in healthcare, did you know that ? ” and it wasn't lost on him that ruby could also fit the role, but there had always been something a little more off-putting about bronte ﹕ but that might have something to do with actually growing up together, being in the same classes, being able to observe her throughout all the years. “ and bronte … she's too perfect, y'know ? but it's the kind of perfect that doesn't hold up under a magnifying glass. it's like looking at a painting from far away— it's all clean lines and soft colors until you get close and see that the strokes are all damn uneven, the colors smeared. nothing really makes sense when you think about it. always social, always knows the right thing to say. but who is she, really ? ” kieran never really knew. and he was really just thinking out loud at this point, blinking as the haze of his thoughts cleared just enough to remind him of where he was. and now that he had said all that he was thinking, kieran also came to a realization ﹕ this felt easy. a little too easy. “ in cases of missing adult women, the perpetrator is also often someone they know. ” pretty obvious that bronte and daniela knew each other enough to be caught in what looked like a heated argument. still, “ but who doesn't know each other in red creek anyway ? ” @den1als

[enternights]

𝗪𝗛𝗘𝗥𝗘.　kieran's apartment, november 4th, 12pm 𝗪𝗜𝗧𝗛.　kieran talbot @horrorphase

𝘄𝗵𝗲𝗻  𝘁𝗵𝗲  𝘀𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗶𝗳𝗳’𝘀  𝗱𝗲𝗽𝗮𝗿𝘁𝗺𝗲𝗻𝘁  𝗶𝗻𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗺𝗲𝗱  𝗻𝗮𝘁𝗵𝗮𝗻  𝗼𝗳  𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘆𝗼𝗻𝗲  𝗰𝗮𝗹𝗹𝗲𝗱  𝗶𝗻𝘁𝗼  𝗾𝘂𝗲𝘀𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴,  his  heart  dropped  to  his  stomach  upon  hearing  kieran’s  name.  what  did  he  have  to  do  with  this?  they’d  attempted  to  ease  his  nerves,  assured  him  that  this  was  all  initial  investigations  to  gather  evidence,  but  the  nagging  feeling  that  there  was  more  never  leaved  him  alone.  everyone  knows  what  kieran  is  like  —  more  importantly,  everyone  knows  what  he  isn’t  like.  he  isn’t  what  one  would  imagine  a  talbot  would  be. he isn't the man nathan expected him to grow into when first held him in his arms and looked him in his eyes ( the ones that look just like his. )  in  fact,  almost  everything  about  him  was  also  everything  nathan  stood  against.  the  anger  that  used  to  stew  in  him  for  the  way  his  eldest  turned  out  is  now  replaced  with  fear,  because  now  there  are  very  real  consequences  for  the  way  he  acts  beyond  how  he’s  perceived  and  how  that  reflects  on  nathan  and  their  family.  do people believe he  could’ve  done  this?  that  he  could  be  capable  of  murder  because  of  the  way  he  carries  himself? that there might be more than meets the eye to his unconventional interest in jacob thorne?

nathan's  lucky  charlotte  possesses  a  copy  of  kieran's  apartment  key.  his  son  seems  almost  impossible  to  reach  these  days,  though  it  might  just  be  for  him,  and  nathan  can't  exactly  blame  him  for  that.  he’s  sitting  on  a  recliner  in  the  living  room  when  the  front  door  finally  swings  open.  he  doesn’t  even  give  kieran  a  chance  to  notice  his  presence  before  he  clears  his  throat  to  get  his  attention.  “  sit  down,  ”   nathan  commands,  casting  a  stoic  gaze  upon  his  son  as  he  gestures  to  the  couch  across  from  him.  his  voice  is  stern,  rigid,  but  it's  mostly  there  to  disguise  the  real  feeling  settling  in  his  gut  —  worry.   “  do  you  wanna  tell  me  what  the  hell  you  were  doing  on the night alaina price was murdered  to  warrant  police  questioning?  ”

[horrorphase]

ꜜ ﹙ ⚰️  ﹚ ﹕ it  wasn't  fair,  kieran  thought⸻     the  inevitability  of  death.  how  it  could  just  casually  sneak  up  on  you,  do  whatever  it  wanted  with  your  heart,  and  the  earth  would  still  continue  spinning  on  its  axis  after  it  was  done.  though,  the  same  could  probably  be  said  about  love.  but  that  was  another  thought  for  another  time,  the  other  man  probably  just  as  equally  terrible  as  he  was  when  it  came  to  romance.  if  not  worse,  with  all  of  kingsley's  disappearance  acts.  death  was  just  easier  to  talk  about,  especially  in  the  stillness  of  the  cemetery  under  the  sunset's  bruised  hue  of  purple  and  gray,  its  headstones  like  crooked  teeth  rising  from  the  frostbitten  earth.  and  kieran  stood  near  the  edge  of  an  open  grave,  the  cherry  embers  of  his  cigarette  pulsing  in  the  dusk,  watching  kingsley  work  his  spade  to  smooth  out  a  stubborn  clump  of  uneven  snow-dusted  ground.  ❝  have  you  figured  it  all  out  ? ❞  kieran  asked,  his  voice  carrying  the  gravel  of  sleepless  nights  and  too  many  questions,  that  exact  myopic  tone  that  he  possessed  whenever  he  wanted  to  ignore  everything  else  in  his  life  but  a  case.  ❝  you've  got  a  way  of  seeing  things  no  one  else  does.  figured  you  might  have  thoughts  about  alaina.  her  murder,  i  mean.  and  daniela  just  vanishing  off  the  face  of  the  planet.  people  talk,  but  they  don't  really  think,  you  know  ? ❞   smoke  curled  from  his  lips  as  he  exhaled  after  another  drag  that  burned  in  his  lungs,  the  warmth  brief  and  fleeting,  his  gaze  still  steady  on  the  gravedigger.  kieran  knew  that  kingsley's  mind  could  come  up  with  the  most  outrageous  and  absurd  explanations  for  all  the  things  that  happened  ﹕ but  he  didn't  really  mind  sifting  through  the  most  incongruous  and  grotesque  of  ideas,  even  just  for  the  slightest  chance  of  finding  something  real  in  all  of  it.  and  kingsley  was  far  smarter  than  people  gave  him  credit  for.  ❝  thought  maybe  you'd  stitched  together  something  the  rest  of  us  haven't. ❞     @ins1ders

[horrorphase]

…                      it had been a long damn day, a police interview and a shift in the morgue, tiresome and headache-inducing in a way that could only be soothed by breaking into your father's liquor cabinet while he was busy pacifying a town wailing with questions. “ you know, if i wasn't his son, and i didn't know better, i'd probably suspect dad. ” said nonchalantly as he handed a cold glass of some vintage rum to avery, the still-bruised eye was enough proof that she probably needed this just as much as him. “ he fits the bill of most midwestern serial killers. he was in his 20s when the first killings happened, which is the usual age most serial killers start their murders. appears normal and non-threatening to the community. i mean, even gacy was involved in local politics. and he's obviously great at keeping secrets, so if someone gets a whiff of that, even if it's just that mom and him are going through it .... it wouldn't be good. ” the list could go on, but kieran just shrugged before taking a sip of his drink, wincing as soon as it hit his tongue, and he could only hope that it'd be worth it by dulling his unease. and of course, kieran didn't actually think his father was capable of such transgressions, but he wasn't the only one searching for the boogeyman in this town ⸻ and sooner or later, the blame game would begin, fingers pointed in every direction. and a wrong assumption could easily ruin someone's life in this town. “ guess your job is making sure nobody actually thinks that. you know it's all about eating the rich these days, rightfully so, and we're kind of prime grade beef in this town. ” @ichorstained

[horrorphase]

…                      he had been here a thousand times before, a place for solace and rumination, for youthful rendezvous and misdeeds. here, he smoked his first cigarette with taylan and thought of himself as some kind of anarchist for tarring his lungs. here, he tried to speak with the ghost of jacob thorne, trying to understand him with every mark of growth on the door frame, every old photo abandoned, and every tall tale unburied. it was a place filled with ghosts, though nothing could harm him here. but with alaina price disemboweled, her organs bagged and sewn back in, thorne house now felt like an ancient beast disturbed ⸻ spreading its teeth and devouring him, gnawing on his autonomous nervous system until all his synapses could relay would be pastpresentpastpresent. it must all be connected somehow, and kieran couldn't think of another place the boogeyman could have gone after slipping away from his sight. so he searched and searched and searched for some trace, the beam of his flashlight cutting through the dust-cloaked darkness of sybil thorne's room. the house felt more alive than ever, but kieran did not flinch when he heard the creaking floorboards the first time, only natural for old houses like this to breathe every now and then. but then he heard it again, closer this time, his body tensing as he was reminded that the ghost he chased was more flesh than memory. and at the indication of the third time, the beginning of a drawn-out groan of wood shifting under pressure behind him, kieran immediately pivoted ⸻ flashlight slicing through the darkness, illuminating another trespasser. he expected a knife, he expected a mask, but the absence did not necessarily mean innocence either. “ huh ... ” he began, heart slowing into a more deliberate rhythm, probably should known that he wouldn't be the only trying to find answers here. “ i didn't expect the boogeyman to be just some journalist trying to create her own headlines. ” he deadpanned, a half-joke, a half-accusation, head canted to watch kennedy with wary fascination. @brntout

[horrorphase]

ꜜ ﹙ ⚰️  ﹚ ﹕ sometimes,  looking  at  his  brother  felt  like  looking  at  himself⸻    a  reflection  of  his  own  timid  set  of  shoulders,  the  way  anxiety  and  fear  clung  to  him  like  cigarette  smoke.  and  it  was  a  terrifying  thought,  that  griffin  could  be  carrying  all  the  same  emotions  he  did  when  he  was  at  that  age.  those  feelings  of  being  small  and  inconsequential,  so  insidious  with  how  it  could  compel  him  to  fold  himself  up  in  so  many  ways  as  to  not  take  too  much  space  and  draw  attention  in  such  a  big  terrible  world  that  devoured  people  like  them.  and  there  was  nothing  he  wouldn't  do,  not  a  sharp  knife  he  wouldn't  jump  in  front  of,  just  to  make  sure  his  brother  never  think,  even  for  a  second,  that  he  didn't  matter—  that  his  softness  wouldn't  be  enough  to  keep  him  whole.  but  kieran  also  knew  that  he  wouldn't  always  be  able  to  protect  griffin  ﹕  not  that  kid  who  used  to  follow  him  and  his  friends  around  anymore,  couldn't  just  put  his  hands  over  griffin's  eyes  whenever  something  abhorrent  happened,  like  taylan  beating  someone  up  or  finch  pissing  in  the  middle  of  street  like  a  bad  dog. though,  maybe  this  could  be  a  helpful⸻    objects  solemnly  laid  out  like  artifacts  on  display,  every  item  looking  incredibly  barbaric  on  top  of  their  father's  sleek  choice  for  a  countertop.  a  bear  spray,  bright  orange,  its  purpose  blaring  like  a  hazard  light  ;  the  hello  kitty  taser  he  got  on  sale  from  amazon,  as  though  violence  could  be  sanitized  by  design  ;  and  the  knuckle  dusters,  inherently  brutish,  something  primal  made  manifest.  and  kieran  stared  at  them  for  a  long  time,  as  he  wondered  if  his  brother  could  stomach  it  ...  how  protection,  if  it  came  down  to  it,  would  demand  more  than  tools.  it  called  for  instinct,  resolve,  the  kind  of  hard  calculus  that  turned  you  into  something  you  might  not  recognize. then,  he  thought  about  the  memory  of  alaina  price,  not  just  the  soft  recollection  of  laughter  or  late  night  babysitting  when  they  were  kids,  but  the  raw  unflinching  truth  of  the  morgue.  he'd  been  there  when  thierry  gore  unzipped  the  bag  and  made  the  first  incision  in  that  sterile  and  cold  room.  he  was  the  one  who  weighed  and  cataloged  her  organs  like  they  belonged  to  a  stranger,  not  the  girl  who  taught  him  how  to  braid  piper's  hair  or  told  them  monsters  weren't  real.  and kieran  had  held  her  heart  in  his  gloved  hands,  felt  the  emptiness  in  it,  and  wondered  if  she  had  known—  really  known—  how  brutal  the  world  could  be.  how  wrong  she  was  about  the  monsters.  and  it  was  the  kind  of  knowledge  he  couldn't  risk  griffin  learning  the  same  way.  ❝  hey,  c'mere  for  a  second, ❞  kieran  beckoned  to  the  kitchen  once  griffin  finally  came  downstairs,  his  expression  quiet  but  deliberate,  hand  brushing  briefly  over  the  taser's  smooth  surface  before  retreating,  as  though  unwilling  to  impose  the  weight  of  his  fears  too  heavily  on  his  brother.  despite  how  raw  the  memory  of  seeing  alaina's  corpse  was,  the  lacerations  in  her  flesh,  the  way  memories  of  her  effortless  smile  had  been  replaced  with  seeing  her  lips  purple  and  slack.  ❝  just  humor  me,  alright  ?  i  want  you  to  carry  this  stuff,  please. ❞  no  sharpness  in  his  tone,  no  explicit  urgency—  only  the  quiet  unyielding  care  of  someone  who  had  seen  too  much  and  refused  to  let  it  happen  again.  ❝  it  gets  dark  so  early  now,  i  don't  want  you  walking  'round  without  anything  to  protect  yourself. ❞  @chappcdlips

[horrorphase]

ꜜ ﹙ ⚰️  ﹚ ﹕ there was something here that always vaguely reminded him of home, perhaps the faint smell of detergent and burnt dust, or maybe it was the fact that time always felt slower in silver coin⸻ like it got stuck in the lint trap and couldn't quite move on. but no matter what it was, it helped him focus on his thoughts, on the smaller details of the murder board on his mind, as he waited for his laundry to finish. and there he was, sprawled across the mismatched plastic chairs, the angles of his lanky frame defying the furniture's attempts at geometry while a one-eyed cat was perched on his chest ﹕ its remaining eye half-closed, rumbling purr vibrating through kieran's ribs, as though the feline was better at finding peace than he could ever hope to be under the fluorescent bulb and its dull arrhythmic buzz. and balanced on his knee was a battered journal, spine barely clinging to life under layers of duct tape⸻ pen scratching faintly across the page, the numbers tumbling out of him with a compulsive rhythm, a cipher meant to be an extra layer of secrecy to keep his thoughts always only just for himself. 32 66 48 67 57 66 35 85 24 65 36 68 56 24 67 53 78 56 28 34 63 68 57 56 67 63 78 57 46 45 34 66 44 65 54 55 69 77 47 44 53 78 46 36 38 64 68 77 47 45 36 68 77 47 77 55 69. and on the edges, doodles of the one-eyed cat and two stick figures. but the scratching of pen on paper paused as soon as he heard jubilee's melodic plea cut through the low industrial hum of the laundromat, tilting his head toward them. and wordlessly, kieran sat up a little and dipped a hand into the pocket of his black threadbare hoodie ﹕ cat sliding off his chest and into his lap with an indignant yowl. “ here. ” he said, holding out a few quarters, a crumpled receipt, and a rogue peppermint, more than they had asked for. then almost instantly, kieran felt the urge of a conversation. to not let that be the end of a fleeting encounter. to pick at jubilee's brain. but kieran was never the best at talking ﹕ only knew how to fill the silence sideways and utterly devoid of finesse. and of course, he was going to bring up the disappearance, the murder, this web that was spun before anyone could notice. “ so, what's your take in all this ? ” he asked, tone flat but weighted. he didn't need to explain what this was⸻ not when there was so little he could possibly be talking about. daniela missing for two months now, alaina price gutted and the walls of her home painted with her blood, bronte's possible involvement with daniela's disappearance, and now greer's face plastered on every bulletin board from here to the interstate. “ doesn't really seem like a sunshine kind of time, does it ? ” he added, voice a little quieter, almost to himself, before looking out the storefront windows ﹕ the days were getting shorter now, darkness always encroaching sooner than they realized.

[  open  starter  ;  starring  ...  jubilee  jackson  ] [  setting  ;  silver coin laundromat  ]

it's  very  rare  for  jubilee  to  not  have  at  least  a  soft  smile  on  their  face.  their  name  is  literally  jubilee.  they're  a  walking  ray  of  sunshine  for  the  most  part.

at  the  moment,  she's  pissed.  her  brows  knit  together,  and  a  scowl  on  her  face  as  her  manicured  nails  pluck  out  the  silver  coins  in  her  light  washed  jeans  pocket.  arguably,  jubilee  hasn't  carried  cash,  let  alone  coins,  for  what  feels  like  years  at  this  point.  in  their  defense,  they  never  thought  the  washer  and  dryer  they  got  off  facebook  marketplace  three  years  ago  would  suddenly  die  on  them  and  they'd  be  forced  to  go  to  a  laundromat.

she  counts  the  coins  softly  to  herself,  taking  a  deep  breath  when  it  hits  her;  she's  a  single  quarter  short.  jubilee  scratches  the  back  of  her  neck  as  she  looks  down  at  the  basket  of  clothes  near  her  boots,  contemplating  washing  them  in  her  sink  just  for  a  moment  before  looking  up  and  around.

"hey  friend,"  jubilee  sings  at  the  other  patron  in  the  laundromat,  giving  them  a  charming  smile  and  raise  of  her  thick  brows.  "you  got  a  quarter  i  could  barrow?  i'll  pay  you  back  with  interest.  pinky  promise."

[horrorphase]

ꜜ ﹙ ⚰️  ﹚ ﹕ he'd been here enough times to consider himself a goddamn expert in the dewey decimal system⸻ but no amount of skill really mattered when faced with such messy variables of human error. everything here was supposed to be in neat order ﹕ in its place, every number meant to lead to a revelation, yet half the books he needed was nowhere in sight. blame it on the high schoolers, abandoning books anywhere and everywhere, attention always flickering elsewhere like restless moths ; or blame it on the old shelvers, perpetually behind, carts laden with titles that could have answered his questions yesterday, last week, thirteen years ago. and kieran usually wouldn't ask for help ﹕ but the clock was ticking, alaina's ghost hanging heavy over his thoughts, crying out for answers, for a name, for closure. kieran rounded the corner to the circulation desk, dropping all the books he had found with a loud thud, clearing his throat with a curt sound but not entirely impolite. “ i need help. ” he said, sliding a list towards darcy, the ink smudged now from too many foldings and unfoldings, a list of books that offered breadcrumbs in the labyrinth of understanding— of the boogeyman, of the 1999 murderer if they were not the same, of the dark geometry of the human mind that could drive someone to such depraved acts. “ i've got mindhunter, whoever fights monsters, i'll be gone in the dark, the jigsaw man, and the shrine of jeffrey dahmer. but can't seem to find zodiac, the alienist, my life with murderers, and the psychopath inside: a neuroscientist's personal journey into the dark side of the brain. and i know you have them, i've checked them out before. ” urgency punctuated his otherwise monotone words, probably said more here than he had the entire day, but kieran treated this with utmost importance ﹕ quite the melodramatic thought but people's lives depended on it.

[horrorphase]

ꜜ ﹙ ⚰️  ﹚ ﹕ it must really be the calm before the storm if santiago, of all people, lacked any canards from red creek's rumormongers, such an insidious but essential mechanism for checking the pulse of a town so small and suffocating like this. it was just intrusive noise to some people, but gossip had always been the lifeblood of every bumfuck nowhere ﹕ keeping people connected and aware, stitching itself together in shared glanced and half-truths. hell, it was how everyone got together to fuck jacob thorne over. without small town gossip, no one would know who was flourishing or floundering, where otherwise unseen tensions lied, or who would the town elect next to burn at the stake. a small shadow of a smile appeared on kieran's lips, slightly wary and pensive, realizing that not only they didn't know if the killer would strike again but they also couldn't tell yet who the town would blame for alaina's death. it shouldn't be, but like it or not, both of those things were equally damning in dead creek. “ kelly was probably already in the force in 1999 and you know how they treated the thornes. it's probably easier for him to think this killer is an entirely different person than admit he was wrong all those years ago. ” it wasn't exactly rocket science to predict the things people would do to protect their secrets and their pride ﹕ and sometimes survival must come before justice, looking away from truth to keep the gnashing teeth of guilt away. “ but i also wouldn't be surprised if our killer today wasn't really here twenty-five years ago. maybe, it's revenge for the thornes. or maybe, this is some kind of punishments for our sins. god knows we've got some christians here who'd rather purify the earth than take a good look at themselves. ”

⁑ ❝ there's, uh– a supposed list of people, i think. but it's all–... red creek people, y'know ? people that've been here forever. as if they'd just snap and go full slasher flick on us. you, june, tay, angela– like she doesn't have enough shit on her plate with all of this. ❞ with a steadying reminder from kieran, santi pauses to take a deep breath. his words have a way of preceding any rationality– another habit he'll one day learn to shake. but right now— there's that slim chance that someone he knows has snapped in some way. no way to wrap his mind around it except talking. ❝ if anything, people have been weirdly quiet, like– i got nothin'. ❞ a real rarity for santi, who usually knows the ins and outs of any given situation in red creek.

❝ dunno why they aren't lookin' at the people who were actually– sentient last time this happened. someone just decided to pick up the mask & see if it fit ? answered the calling of red creek's own cryptid ? like, come on. ❞

[horrorphase]

…                      he couldn't stop the way his lips curled into a half-smile, known june long enough to know their bark was just their own version of pleasantries ⸻ expected as soon as he entered their vicinity. and kieran had far better things to think about, easier to just let all the insults slide off him, as always. “ good seein' you too, june. love the whole compact tyler durden look. ” own cigarette pressed to his mouth as he rolled his eyes, letting the smoke settle in his lungs for a beat before it unfurled right back out ; a warm reassurance to soothe his agitation just a little. the cops found a body and rather than returning home for some semblance of safety, here he still was : searching for leads, trying to determine where every face he saw fell into. innocent or suspect ? and maybe it was futile, maybe the boogeyman only roamed in the dark, lurking in the places no one dared to look. but then his whole attention flicked in the same direction of june's gaze : immediately noticing the mask, too fresh in his memory after an encounter with it in the thorne house earlier in the night. and although it might not be the exact same one, it was unmistakably the face of red creek's cautionary tales and childhood night terrors : the boogeyman. cigarette dropped and crushed underneath his shoe, glancing sideways at june. “ you've got a weapon ? ” he asked under his breath, though it didn't really matter, already decided that he'd go after the masked figure the second he laid eyes on them. adrenaline stirred something in his gut, urging him forward, urging him to not let this chance go. “ on three. ” he added, voice low and urgent, looking at june to make an unspoken agreement to face whatever horror lied ahead together, side by side. he didn't even bother with a verbal countdown ... inhale, exhale, inhale ... running after the boogeyman, heart pounding in his chest.

FOR:   kieran ( @gorebound ) ( @redcreekfm ). DETAILS:   2am, just outside redstone bar.

"come  the  fuck  on  -  santi  you  fucking,  good  for  nothing  -"  a  string  of  swears  follows  june  wherever  she  goes;  and  tonight's  not  any  different,  hopping  onto  the  top  of  their  toes  just  to  peer  back  into  redstone.  friends,  her  ass  -  one  minute  she's  drinking  the  liquor  he  rightfully  bought,  the  next  she's  outside  with  a  freshly  lit  cigarette;  a  fucking  -  swarm  of  people  blocking  her  way  back  inside.  "-  this  is  such  bullshit!"  erupts  from  them  suddenly  as  they  turn  away  from  the  overcrowded  doorway;  inside  is  rowdier  -  she  can  hear  it,  feel  it.  chaos  she  has  no  part  in.  june  hates  it  -  just  as  much  as  she  hates  staring  up  at  kieran's  face.  fucking  -  unnecessarily  tall.  ridiculously  so.

"you  look  like  -  a  fucked  up  ant.  bug  eyes  and  all,"  it's  her  way  of  greeting;  an  insult  thrown  in  for  free  as  june  exhales  smoke,  elbows  sharp  into  the  ribs  of  whoever  surrounds  them  -  if  only  to  step  further  into  the  cool  night  air.  people  linger  all  around  them;  busy  in  their  own  conversations,  their  own  shared  cigarettes  and  snuck  -  out  bottles  of  beer.  she  should've  slipped  a  handle  into  her  jacket.  "should've  got  -  shin  shortening  surgery,  or  some  shit.  whatever  they  do  now."  her  neck  hurts  just  craning  to  look  up  at  him  -  only  pisses  her  off  further,  as  if  his  height  was  personally  meant  to  mock  her;  june  glances  away,  if  only  to  glare  at  nothing  down  the  street.  a  permanent  scowl.  "you  supposed  to  be  dressed  as  something,  or  were  you  always  a  fucking  -  sad,  emo  cowboy  -  who  the  fuck  is  that?"  there's  -  something  in  the  distance;  no,  someone  -  barely  visible  in  the  dark,  barely  noticeable  in  the  outside  chatter.

[horrorphase]

ꜜ ﹙ ⚰️  ﹚ ﹕ kieran   allowed   for   a   quiet   moment,   combing   his   fingers   through   his   hair   as   he   let   his   mother's   words   hang   heavy   between   them,   a   tightness   coiling   in   his   chest⸻       like   the   weight   of   her   worry   had   taken   root   there   and   just   wouldn't   let   go.   and   kieran   knew   his   mother   well   enough   to   know   that   her   worry   was   as   much   a   part   of   her   as   the   color   of   her   eyes   or   the   cadence   of   her   voice.   it   lived   in   her   bones,   an   inherent   force   that   shaped   the   way   she   loved   him   and   all   his   siblings,   so   fierce   and   unrelenting.   he   could   make   all   his   excuses,   blame   it   on   the   friends   he   kept,   but   his   mother's   concerns   weren't   something   words   could   unravel,   nor   promises   could   diminish.   still,   charlotte   would   be   wrong   to   think   that   her   children   wouldn't   inherit   this   part   of   her   ﹕   hell,   griffin   was   a   walking   advertisement   for   benzodiazepines.   and   she   could   tell   kieran   a   thousand   times   not   to   worry,   to   leave   it   alone,   to   let   her   carry   her   burdens   in   silence—   but   how   could   he   ?    ❛     i   am   my   mother's   child,   y'know   ?    ❜    a   small   chuckle   slipped   past   his   lips,   as   if   he   already   won   the   argument   with   that   short   statement,   his   voice   underlined   with   something   softer,   rawer.   he   swallowed   hard,   turning   gaze   to   the   blank   walls   of   the   guest   room,   the   emptiness   gnawing   at   him.   ❛    asking   me   not   to   worry   about   you   is   like   asking   me   to   stop   being   your   son.   i   just   don't   think   that's   possible,   mom.   ❜ he   shifted   his   weight   from   one   foot   to   the   other,   eyes   dropping   to   the   other   floor   as   he   hesitated,   the   words   he   needed   to   say   tangled   up   in   his   throat.   but   as   much   as   he   wanted   to   keep   his   secrets,   to   protect   her   from   all   the   truths   that   he   witnessed,   kieran   could   never   lie   to   her.   ❛    as   for   what   could've   been   so   important   ...   ❜   kieran   trailed   off,   rubbing   the   back   of   his   neck.   he   knew   how   it   sounded,   how   thin   the   line   was   between   explaining   himself   and   sounding   like   a   incautious   moron⸻       letting   out   a   dry   laugh,   trying   to   steady   himself   before   looking   back   at   his mother.   ❛    i   get   what   you're   saying.   if   sheriff   kelly   caught   me,   it   probably   wouldn't   just   be   a   slap   on   the   wrist.   they'd   have   every   reason   to   think   it   was   me.   but   i   couldn't   just   ...   not   go.    ❜

he   dragged   a   deep   breath   into   his   lungs,   bracing   himself   for   the   inexorable   negative   emotions   that   would   come   from   his   imminent   confession.   ❛   earlier   that   night—   when   i   was   at   the   thorne   house—   i   saw   taylan.   he   was   wearing   the   boogeyman   mask.    ❜    the   words   landed   heavy,   watching   charlotte's   face   carefully   for   the   inevitable   reaction.   ❛    then,   hours   later,   after   i   found   out   that   someone   had   been   murdered,   i   saw   someone   else   wearing   the   same   mask.   chased   after   them,   but   i   lost   them.   so   i   had   to   see   taylan,   mom.   i   had   to.   i   had   to   make   sure   it   wasn't   him,   that   he   didn't   come   home   just   be   caught   up   in   something   ...   worse.     ❜   kieran's   voice   wavered   for   a   moment,   but   he   steadied   it   with   a   small   shake   of   his   head.  ❛    he   told   me   it   wasn't   him.   and   i   believe   him.   he's   not   the   boogeyman   who   might   have   killed   alaina.   but   someone   is   out   there,   and   they're   playing   a   dangerous   game.   and   whoever   it   is ...   i   don’t   think   they're   done.   so  if   we   don't   figure   out   who   it   is,   it's   gonna   happen   again.    ❜    he   stopped,   giving   her   a   look   that   carried   both   conviction   and   exhaustion,   a   quiet   plea   for   her   to   understand. kieran   continued watching   her   for   a   long   moment,   the   weight   of   the   conversation   sitting   heavy   between   them,   pressing   against   the   usual   warmth   of   their   home   like   a   shadow   that   wouldn't   leave.     ❛     i'm   being   careful.   i   swear   i   am.    ❜     but   they   both   knew   being   careful   wouldn't   be   enough   to   solve   this.   and   sooner   or   later,   kieran   would   lean   into   the   risk   for   a   chance   at   the   truth.   but   his   gaze   still   softened,   the   faintest   hint   of   a   smile   curving   his   lips   as   he   crossed   the   small   space   to   sit   beside   her   on   the   bed.   his   shoulder   brushed   hers   as   he   leaned   into   her   lightly,   an   almost   playful   nudge,   his   quiet   way   of   saying   ﹕ i'm   here,   and   i   see   you.     ❛     but we   can   talk   ' bout   something   else   now   if   it'll   make   you   feel   better.     ❜     smile   twisted   into   something   almost   embarrassed,   turning   his   gaze   down   to   his   hands,   fidgeting   with   the   hem   of   his   sleeve.    ❛     could   tell   you   ' bout   how   i   got   a   new   cat,   or   you   could   tell   me   uh …   how   you   know   when   you're   in   love   with   someone   ?     ❜     the   words   tumbled   out   awkwardly,   and   he   followed   them   up   quickly,   cheeks   ruddy   red   with   warmth.    ❛    like,   how   did   you   figure   it   out   the   first   time   ?   with   dad,   i   mean.   or   someone   else   before   him.    ❜

Charlotte was a woman being silently buried in memory. Some memories were beautiful, some bittersweet, some terribly sad- but worst of all were those that were horrid and ugly, always circling her like sharks in the water, threatening to devour her at the slightest suggestion of blood. The first time her life was burned to the ground, the only thing she had left was the shadows of the past- long, dark, haunting figures that lurked in unexpected places. An entire lifetime, abandoned and left to rot in the unreachable corners of her psyche. Twenty-eight years later, she found herself surrounded by smoke once more- but these flames were not so easily left behind. Charlotte shrugged, lowering her eyes and reaching for the last of the laundry in the basket. “There’s no reason to worry about me. I’m sleeping better than before anyway! The mattress in here is better than the one in your father’s room,” she said, busying her hands with more folding. The twinge of pain in her back called her out on that lie, but she stifled her grimace. “And regardless, this is between me and your father, and I don’t want you getting in the middle of it. That’s not your job, nor should it be.”

As Kieran told her about his night, Charlotte began stowing her laundry away in the bottom drawers of the dresser- another way of disguising her presence in the room. It wasn’t entirely surprising to hear that he was breaking into graveyards on Halloween, especially if Finch was involved. That was a silent battle that she’d given up on years ago, ultimately accepting that her kid would likely be liable to get into trouble every now and again for the rest of her natural life. She worried, of course, but he was a good kid, and his mischief was harmless in the long run. Her eyes rolled at the mention of it, but she smiled hesitantly, hopeful the rest of the story would feel like a Kieran Talbot Edition of Mad-libs. It did not. 

“Kieran.”  The final shirt left in the pile was now balled in her fist, all amusement vanishing from her face instantly, replaced by the simple, unadulterated dread that was now settling firmly in the pit of her stomach. These murders were different than the first, for one horrible reason: she could not so easily protect her children. When this scene played out the first time, Charlotte moved Kieran’s crib into their bedroom, away from the windows, with their bed placed between the door and her baby. Many sleepless nights were spent staring at Kieran's little chest rising and falling as he slept- he was so small, so vulnerable, so unaware of the terrible world he'd been born into. Her voice remained steady, and she did her best to smother the anger that rose out of her fear. “You’re truly trying to tell me that it was ‘nothing major’? Did you think that curfew was put in place for fun?” She loosened her grip on the shirt, tossing it in the basket, crossing the room to sit on the side of the bed closest to her son, ignoring his questions about her own night. “What if something had happened to you? What were you thinking? What could possibly have been so important, that you would put yourself in danger like that, instead of just sending a goddamn text?” A headache sprang up behind her eyes, and she was eyeing the Ativan that sat in the drawer on her side table. Visions of Jacob Thorne flashed in her mind, unsettling fears for her son that should have been laid to rest long, long ago. “And what if the cops had seen you? What if they started to suspect that you were responsible for what happened? My God Kieran. I need you to be more careful. Please.”

[horrorphase]

ꜜ ﹙ ⚰️  ﹚ ﹕ he hadn't really been here before, but the apartment, as it was now, felt like a foxhole, a sanctuary from the disorder of the world outside. sun-warmed wood, lovingly cluttered corners⸻ and he could just stay like this forever, watching the soft beams of morning light sprawled across the floor, such careless elegance that set every speck of dust adrift in gold. if only █████ was here, then he'd have everything he needed here. there was an echo of comfort here ﹕ it wasn't taylan's childhood bedroom, but there was still something grounding about the rough scrape of posters and the scattered remnants of his friend's life— hockey gear propped in corners, a stick resting against the wall, its tape frayed and peeling like a secret kept too long. kieran rubbed at his eyes, the fabric of taylan's shirt shifting over his shoulders, loose and comforting, such a rare thing for him to sleep as deeply as he did, for his mind to go still, for his body to just surrender into sheets. but he could just blame it on last night's exhaustion ﹕ muscles still carrying soreness from running after the boogeyman, a leftover hum of adrenaline.

but he couldn't stay like this forever, not when there was another body disemboweled, another murder to solve ﹕ that blissful moment of emptiness when you just woke up finally fading away and making room for reality. kieran pushed off from taylan's bed, the creak of the frame sounding like childhood memories of sneaking out, and stepped into the hallway, where the warmth spilling in from the kitchen greeted him. and he followed as selin's silhouette moved against the backdrop of the morning⸻ stopping just a short distance from her when he noticed the cat, bare feet grounding him to the space as he watched pasha let out some accusatory hisses and meows, tail twitching like a metronome of distrust. and before he could say anything, selin swiveled with a frying pan that could have probably knocked him out if only she actually acted on that impulse. instinct jolted through him, but he didn't move, lips pulling into a crooked smile. “ y'know, i used to remember you threatening people with words when tay's fists didn't work. guess you've advanced to kitchenware now ? ” the words rolled off his tongue dryly, but they were punctuated by the small, genuine laugh that escaped him, lifting his hands up in feigned surrender.

“ i have two younger sisters, sel. ' course i know how to make breakfast, ” an almost offended response, but kieran didn't hesitate to move towards the fridge, grabbing a carton of eggs, shaking it lightly. “ sit, ” he gestured with his chin, tone flat and unhurried, a command that was softened by the morning. “ i've got this. ” and it had been awhile since he had done this, breakfast often skipped, but today, here, kieran let himself sink into this ﹕ the clink of a bowl, the scrape of a spatula, the sizzle of oil, the scent of frying eggs. and maybe he was just trying to make her feel more comfortable before the next revelation⸻ “ hope you don't mind that i inspected the place last night when everyone was asleep. ” gaze flitted towards the cracked-open kitchen window, eyes mapping the frame. “ window's loose. one shove and you're in. ” a glance toward toward the front door then made him snort quietly, the sound more breath than laugh. “ that lock might as well be a decoration. deadbolt's a joke, could be picked with a hairpin. most of the frame had gone soft, too. could probably be forced open with some pressure. ” he stepped away from the stove for a few moments, pointing out the window at the far corner of the living room, its curtain drawn lazily to one side. “ that one's a bit trickier— sills a little more sturdy, but if you know how to jimmie the latch, it opens. probably takes a bit more finesse, but not impossible. ” and of course, there was taylan's window, but they didn't need to talk about that. kieran paused for a second, maybe two, or ten, trying to remember if there was any other entry points he was missing ﹕ but train of thought was then derailed by the scent of burnt eggs. “ SHIT. ”

FOR : kieran , june , & taylan ( @horrorphase @bittenmoths @ofvolatile ) . LOCATION : selin's apartment . TIME : early morning , november 1st .

she can tell it's early by the way the sun peaks through her curtains , the lacey shadow casting an intricate pattern across her hardwood floors in the way that always made selin itch to trace over it , to make it permanent with some paint and a brush . in the safety of her bedroom art supplies are scattered freely , tucked into corners and piled onto desks , adorning her bookshelves in the way they never used to within the walls of her childhood home . her apartment was her sanctuary , and her bedroom the most intimate room of all ; pieces of her heart were scattered everywhere , displayed in the pictures taped onto her walls and the boxes of old birthday cards and love notes by her bed , tethered to the clothes overfilling her closet and the trinkets she's filled a many jewelry box with . she's careful not to wake june as she slides out from under her comforter and into her slippers — and there's a piece of her heart there , too , locked tightly inside the sleeping mass selin's vigilant to note is alive and breathing , counting the gentle rise and falls of their chest before she's content enough to venture into the kitchen . pasha greets her with a headbutt to the legs and a disgruntled meow , so croaky and cranky from being denied his spot in her bed it draws a laugh out of her . " i'm sorry , baby , " she coos , to which he offers another meow , taking his place by his bowl . she fills it mindlessly , pats his furry head , still groggy with sleep and only just beginning to register the throbbing of her bruised eye , more swollen and tight than it had felt last night . she's tempted to crawl back into her bed , but there was no falling asleep again without pain killers , and there were no pain killers without breakfast . november had brought with it a chill that warranted pajamas warmer than the old high school class t-shirt and mismatching shorts she was wearing , but it wasn't the temperature outside seeping in from the only half decently insulated walls that has the hair on the back of her neck standing up , or goosebumps trailing down the length of her arms . it was the feeling that someone was behind her ; a feeling confirmed by the tabby cat who was no longer crunching on kibble , but hissing at a shadow too lanky too belong to her brother . her heart jumps into her throat , a million thoughts crossing her mind , but only two registering . is this what alaina felt ? and then is taylan okay ?

she doesn't spare another second thinking , leaping to action in a way she didn't know herself capable of until that very moment , shaking fingers clasping onto the handle of her frying pan before she whips around , unbrushed curls bouncing , what could have been a scream tearing from her throat before it dies off into a stunned silence . there was no boogeyman poised with a knife , ready to slash her organs from her body . no , her intruder wore a familiar face , and selin lowers her weapon just a fraction before hissing " — kieran ? " disbelief at the picture in front of her has her staring as she waits for it to register kieran talbot's standing , very much uninvited , very much unfazed , inside her apartment . and maybe that's why her suspicion refuses to back down entirely as she says " i don't remember letting you in . " with every second her heartbeat settles closer to normal comes clarity , sense returning with every blink of her dark lashes . the clothes he's wearing — she recognizes the shirt , and old tee's of her brother , which could only mean two things : either he'd spent the night in taylan's room , no doubt climbing through his window like june had , or he'd killed her brother then taken the shirt as some sort of sick prize . it wasn't even a question in her head , which reality made more sense . " i really need new fucking locks , don't i ? " she groans , more to herself than to kieran , frying pan returned to it's spot on the stove , relinquished from her panicked grasp from only minutes before . and then selin spins back around to face him , hands placed squarely on her hips as she fixes him with a look there was only one right answer to . " well do you know how to crack an egg , at least ? "

[horrorphase]

ꜜ ﹙ ⚰️  ﹚ ﹕ it should come to no surprise that his youngest sister hounded him with questions, both of them harboring minds ripe with curiosity ⸻ often rabid in their search for answers, prowling the deepest recesses of their town, sinking their teeth into the foulest of leads. but at least she was redeemable ﹕ in the eyes of their father, in the eyes of the town their family was cursed to serve. and part of him envied her baby sister, how she could stomach all the idle porch talk and the agog stares of townsfolk whenever they saw a talbot, but he was ultimately just glad to absolve her of the same fate as him. he was the black sheep. the creep, the freak, the weirdo. and he'd happily serve himself up as their next jacob thorne if it meant saving anyone he cared about from the hungry eyes looking to gnaw on another's ruin to stave off their own guilt ﹕ let them carve him apart piece by piece, dress him up with blame, and sustain themselves with the meat of his sacrifice. how else would a town like this survive ? one of them might be a killer, but kieran knew that almost everyone here had other secrets that they'd like to keep buried than answer the hollow growls of their conscience. “ some deputy probably saw me running down the street in the middle of the night. they might have thought i was running from something. ” well, either that or they knew about him trespassing into thorne house yet again, or when he broke into the cemetery with finch, or maybe they saw him climbing into taylan's window past curfew. it was a certainly a long night. but while some details blurred and waned, kieran doubted that any of his crimes were as terrible as bloody murder. “ i think they're just grasping at straws. just like twenty-five years ago when they indulged that witch hunt against jacob thorne. ” kieran shrugged, doubting that the department possessed any kind of evidence to pin the crime on anyone yet. “ taylan might become a person of interest, but hopefully i took care of that before it could become a thing. ” hopefully being the operative word, unsure whether his statement would line up with all the others. still, words rolled off his tongue nonchalantly, didn't offer much more as he began checking out something on his phone. “ i've been running point on getting more information on the people who were actually alive during the 1999 murders, and while dad is more likely to be suspected ... ” a pause as he showed piper his phone, a nearly empty folder labeled [ charlotte talbot ] on screen. a low incredulous chuckle slipped past his lips, seemingly amused at himself for being entertaining the thought. he didn't think their mother could hurt a fly, but she could definitely be keeping a secret. “ obviously not the killer. but isn't it weird that we literally don't know anything about mom's life before she moved here ? ”

🔒 closed starter for kieran / / @gorebound ⏰ sometime after his questioning.

♤ ❝ did the cops really call you in for questioning ? ❞ no time for pleasantries or hellos, this has been grating at her since she heard the first murmur of it across town. gossip of the town has never fallen on deaf ears ; piper knows the way they whisper about anyone out of the norm — knows that her brother could find his way onto the town's suspect list just for the crime of being introverted & curious. as someone who has dug her way into the town's history ( even the unpleasant parts ) for the sake of looking after a place her future is tied up in, she dreadfully knows that her brother could find his way onto the town's suspect list just for the crime of being introverted & curious. it's enough to pull a frustrated reaction from her. ❝ i mean— did they have a reason ? where'd you stick your nose this time ? because if they're just– pointing fingers already��� i swear to god. ❞