#〔 𝖠𝖭𝖦𝖤𝖫𝖠 𝖤𝖲𝖳𝖱𝖠𝖣𝖠 〕 ft. kieran talbot

[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?  ”

[enternights]

angela  is  no  stranger  to  crossing  lines.  always  the  odd  one  out,  cast  aside  and  out  of  place  even  in  her  own  family,  like  a  on  your  favorite  blouse  that  you  can  never  manage  to  scrub  off  —  it's  embedded  into  the  fabric  now,  you  just  have  to  find  a  way  to  disguise  it,  make  it  seem  like  a  part  of  the  pattern  even  when  you  know  it  doesn't  belong.  it  doesn't  feel  like  crossing  a  line  when  her  fascination  with  horror  leads  her  to  places  most  people  wouldn't  dare  cast  a  glance  at,  let  alone  stand  within  a  ten  meter  radius  of.  in  fact,  it  feels  more  like  home.  “  it's  a  dead  woman's  house,  not  fuckin' —  chernobyl.  ”  she's  acutely  aware  of  the  potential  consequences,  the  aftershock  that  could  follow  at  any  given  moment.  but  this  isn't  a  horror  movie,  where  the  familiar  beats  are  all  mapped  out  for  maximum  suspense.  real  life  is  not  as  predictable,  and  she's  wise  enough  to  know  they  should've  come  better  prepared,  but  she  also  knows  that  they  don't  have  much  time.  she  needs  answers  now,  and  if  digging  around  the  scene  of  a  fresh  murder  for  the  infinitesimal  chance  of  finding  something  that  could  give  her  that,  she'll  take  the  gamble.

everything  is  eerily  normal.  the  house  still  feels  lived  in  despite  its  spotless  and  sanitized  condition,  and  angela  almost  expects  alaina  to  show  up  as  though  nothing  ever  happened.  “  do  you  think  it  happed  here?  ”  she  asks,  standing  right  in  the  middle  of  the  living  room.  there's  an  empty  vase  on  the  coffee  table  where  flowers  used  to  be,  and  the  television  is  already  beginning  to  collect  a  thin  layer  of  dust.  somewhere  in  her  mind,  she's  painting  a  morbid  picture  of  how  the  murder  could  have  transpired. she spins around to look back at kieran.  “  something  in  my  gut  is  telling  me  this  wasn't  premeditated.  i  mean,  it's  alaina  —  i  couldn't  think  of  anyone  who  hated  her  even  if  i  tried.  what  if  she  found  dirt  on  someone  and  they  found  out?  something  bad  enough  to  kill  her?  ” maybe something about daniela, even, but she doesn't say that aloud.

ꜜ ﹙ ⚰️  ﹚ ﹕ maybe if his childhood had played out differently, he would have been more like his father ﹕ a man of the people, picture-perfect smile and cloaked in virtue. and maybe then he wouldn't be here standing here, outside a crime scene with a strange girl and her stranger ideas ⸻ half smile shared in consideration. but enough hours had spilled into the days, which then turned into years, searching for the truths that couldn't be undone, already rebelled enough against the fabled talbot obligations to this town to now give up his obsession with what truly happened twenty-five ago. but truth be told, he still possessed a strange hope ﹕ he might not have turned out to be the son his father wanted, but he hoped he'd still be proud of him once he had unearthed all the secrets and unraveled the real monsters of this town. kieran fished a lighter out of his pocket, idly closing and opening its lid as a cigarette dangled from his lips unlit, gaze carefully gauging just how serious angela must be. he wasn't exactly a stranger to breaking and entering ﹕ but none of them were recent crime scenes, none of them places that the authorities could come back to for another sweep just in case they missed anything. still, he could torture himself all he wanted with all the outcomes, conjure up hesitation and act disinterested, but the mere implication was enough to pull at his curiosity. and his curiosity always had a way of setting fire into any good sense left. “ we should be wearing gloves. hairnets. maybe whole fuckin' hazmat suits, ” said as he finally lit his cigarette, taking a drag before his fingers brushed against the cool metal of the sliding door. he glanced back at angela, a quick flick of his eyes, then gently pushed the door open with a creak louder than he wanted it to be ﹕ wincing as the sterile air inside hit his nostrils ⸻ the scent of things cleaner than they should be, like everything had been scrubbed of its past. “ after you, ” stepping aside so she could step in first, her turn to implicate herself in this crime.