#Lington | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

pomegranate-pen · 5 months ago

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The hunter, the prey, and the fool

Alastor x Detective!gn!reader

summary:

You were never really fond of radios.

In your life, things such as ‘entertainment’ have always been seen as ‘unnecessary noise’ and therefore they were confiscated from your household before you were even born. Had you ever been curious enough to ask about such confiscations, your father would go on a tangent about how the truth must be discovered by oneself rather than believing hearsay. Especially in a time where the truth is always hidden behind the curtain, where every misery of humanity has become a giant spectacle to gawk at and read about in the newspapers. Therefore, in your current years, you found decent entertainment between books alone and never bothered to buy a radio.

Which, in hindsight, has now become a big issue for you, hasn’t it?

The culprit of your new case, the infamous radio show host Alastor looks at you with incredible amusement and a tinge of disdain. there's a prickling feeling within you. something that tells you meeting him was no coincidence nor ordinary matter.

you only hope meeting him won't cause you any trouble.

spoiler: it will.

Ao3 version is here!

Note: they're humans in the first few chapters!

chapter 1.The disciples

Blue and pink engulf the walls and tiles, shining brightly in their clean ceramic might. The wooden chairs and stools full of spots and smudges of coffee stain revel in their small islands of memories, letting the deep brown and rouge colors sink in and become one with its old light brown one. The pastries left were very few, an issue the disciple of the baker usually tends to around this time, where the sun is barely out of its luxurious bed of stars and the birds haven’t begun their daily songs. Yet, the disciple was too busy screaming her lungs out, for she had seen a corpse.

The blood oozes out, creating a pool around the once squeaky clean ground,the owner of the bakery, her father, lays motionless with eyes widened, mouth agape as two deep holes of red take away one’s attention, on right at the temple of his mind and the other at his shoulder. For that morning, the once peaceful and sweet hum of songs that Sasha Peterson would do by the day while the smell of sweet pastries engulfed the street was long forgotten, replaced with screams of heartbreak and dread, banging of the walls and doors as the neighbours wake up and witness the dreadful morning at Greenfield street.

“So that's all she could recall?” The morning sun was barely apparent, the cold sizzles of an autumn-near-winter season leaving you with a grey morning and a dark situation to coincide with it. tapes of yellow engulf the bakery in front of you, your eyes set on the weeping brunette shaking from horror and cold. Hadn’t you been the professional that needed to act indifferent and quiet in the case, you’d be comforting her right about now. Her shaken up form tugs at your heartstrings, but you of all people should know that even the most genuine of acts could be played with a mask.

“well…that’s all we could comprehend through all her cryin’.” Mr.Lington said. He coughs a few before clutching his shoulders, being far more affected by the cold than you were a the moment, giving the fact that he was in nothing but his cop uniform unfit for cold weather, all while you relished the warmth in your long brown coat- stereotypically fitting for a detective such as yourself. “ would die for a warm coffee right now.” Lington grumbled.

You gave him an amused smirk. “must suck to wear such a horrid uniform, eh? Maybe you could use that little flimsy badge of yours as fuel for a fire.”

Lington glared at you in jealousy and annoyance. “At least I have a steady paycheck.” He replied back. You and Lington have always had been a…’frenemies’ of sorts, though the ‘friendship’ in it is more done to follow the code of manners and professionality rather than true companionship. Unfortunately for both of you, your jobs mandate you two having more than just one or two interactions within a month. Had your minds been more alike, perhaps you’d gain admiration and respect for each other, but alas, Lington, in your opinion, had always been a prude and a close-minded individual. Often seeking to just quickly close a case rather than seeking out the truth. But, to be fair, he’s also the most bearable of his fellow comrades. Whom were all crude and often much too prideful for your taste to tolerate.

“Say, L/n…if you don’t mind me asking—“ he turns back to you, perhaps tired of seeing Ms.Peterson shake like a leaf as she’s handed a mug of warm tea to soothe her worries. “Why on earth are you here? we just started the case, and I didn’t hear anyone talk about calling you up for this.” his eyes become analytical- judgemental. He tries to search within your act to see if you’ll crack, to see if you’re here for a deeper agenda.

“I was just passing by.” You shrugged. “You could say curiosity has taken a toll on me. when I heard that such a peaceful street has now become bloody, I couldn’t help but check things out for myself.”

Lington’s brows furrowed. You ignored it, eyes glued more to the crime scene before you.

“and in any case, it’s within my responsibilities as a detective—“

“— Private investigator .” Lington felt the need to correct. You could only give him a squinted stare before putting on a bittersweetly annoyed smirk. With a ‘tch’, you continued.

“like I said. As a detective—” You didn’t miss the sneer he gave you, only making you more prideful than before. “ It's within my responsibility to solve any case I see, and today while I decided to take a nice stroll around the town, I witnessed this.” you point to the Bakery before putting your hands into your coat’s pockets. “And if you’ll excuse me, Officer Lington, I have a job to do. whether you like it or not.”

You intend to walk up to the shivering witness a few feet away, however, a cop suddenly blocks your path, giving you a dirty glare then looking back at Lington like a loyal knight. You couldn’t help but huff in annoyance, turning your head back to Lington and giving him a knowing look.

Lington tries to hold back his happy grin through huffs from the cold, but it fails and only makes you feel more irked than before. “Well you came a bit late, Detective .” He then points to his left. “five minutes late, to be exact. “

You look at where he’s pointing, only to be met with a hoard of people circling around an officer and an unknown man. The first thing you notice about the pair is the annoyed smile the culprit gives, as if he’s more frustrated by the itchy handcuffs and grimy hands on him rather than pleading for his innocence.

The officer says a few common phrases to him, urging him to get in the car so they’d leave as soon as possible. Yet, the man wouldn’t budge, unusually strong and avoiding the car seat as much as he could. A few more officers flea into the scene to help settle him in, but he tries to kick them back with his feet, all while his voice threatens them with the calmest possible tone.

“Now now, dear officers, wouldn’t want to be known for hurting a very well known radio host while falsely accusing him of murder, now would you?” he grins, though his eyes squint in pure annoyance. “ you’re almost tempting me to broadcast the very rotting pits of your actions for all the people in this fine town!”

Intriguing. Awfully intriguing. You look back at Lington more confused than defeated. “you think this is your guy?” you look back at the apparent radio host again, who has successfully kicked one of the officers in the gut while chuckling.

“he was last seen with the victim.”

“and his motive?”

“unknown for now.”

You perked up by that. “do you at least have any solid evidence other than him being the last guy to see him?”

Lington stays silent for a moment, looking back at the scene and undoubtedly trying to ignore you.

“oh my fucking god, Lington.” You pinch the bridge of your nose before rubbing your temples to avoid an oncoming headache. “ Not this shit again .”

“We'll prove everything at court. “ he sighed. “ If he's not the murderer then he’s got nothing to worry about, neither do you.”

“oh yes, and let’s see him leave the court, go back to his radio show and start ruining the already damaged reputation of the incompetent police department! How great!” your voice of sweet malice makes Lington grip his toolbelt. “what a great idea, Captain! Can’t wait to see people shitting on you for this one! Oh I wonder which unsolved case they’ll attack you for next time. Maybe the continuous chain of murders that’s still being committed by the ever-so-mysterious serial killer? Remember how you once accused the son of one of the victims to be the murderer? Remember that buddy? Oh oh! maybe they’ll ask you if you’re linked to the hya-”

“— then what do you suggest we do ?” the question you’ve been meaning to urge out of him is finally released. Your acts of light teasing (bullying) the captain finally bearing its fruit. He looks utterly enraged, his mind filled with his own insecurities, because you and him both know he’s not fit for his job. And quite frankly, he’s been a miserable failure these days, and has been born in an era where crime is the highest it could ever be.

“Give me three days to solve this.” Lington frowned at that, fiddling a bit with the car keys on his belt. “I’ll give you two days.” He huffed.

You stare blankly at him for a moment, then give a small smile and shrug. “fine by me, I’ve always liked a challenge.” Lies. Had it not been a crime, you’d prance at Lington and beat the shit out of him right now for his stone-headed stubbornness. Alas, you must stay in your act. “oh and— free the culprit, will you?” you take a glance at the car with an unscathed, yet amused host sitting at the car with a certain confident pose. The officer who was his designated driver took a breather right beside the car, all with an ice pack on his newly formed black eye.

“Are you serious ? What if he is the murderer? You’re just going to set this loose canon free ?”

“No, of course not.” You think for a moment, looking back at the bakery that remains quiet, with a few officers mucking around looking for further clues. “ There's a kitchen behind the place, right?” Lington hesitantly nods. “then just set him up there and keep an eye on him until I come in and begin the questioning. Ok?”

Lington keeps his mouth shut, holding back a handful of comments you know aren’t pretty in the slightest.you look back at the witness who was a bit more calmed now, your head forming up a strategy plan as you turn around to begin your walk- yet before you do, another comment leaves your mouth.

“oh and by the way, “ you suddenly take a badge out of your pocket. “stay alert captain, will you?”

Befuddled and shocked, Lington first second guesses the entire situation, his hand instinctively going up to his chest as he realizes that the badge in your hand, is in fact, his. He snatches the badge from the currently utterly amused you.

“I really hate you L/n. you know that, right?”

“The feeling’s mutual, Captain!”

----

“Ms.Peterson?”

The brunette, Sasha Peterson looks up at you with confusion, grief over the situation still plaguing her mind it seems. After all, her boss was no ordinary stranger.

“Let me start by saying I’m sorry for your loss.” You sit down next to her, hoping to not stress her out more by standing atop her idly like a looming shadow. “..you must feel very out of place at the moment.”

“ out of place ?” she scoffs, taking a deep breath as she continues to stare at the concrete. “ that phrase is used for when a gal goes to a club for the first time. When they feel embarrassment, when they’re utterly naïve to the world around them. “ The cold wind blows through the streets, making both your coat and her hair dance with the breeze for a moment, and making her clench her blanket with a tighter grip. “ I may be young, but I’m not naïve. And I assure you, detective, that I am in no way embarrassed right now. oh no, I wish I was just feelin’ embarrassed.`` She gulps. “what I feel right now? what I saw this mornin’? it was nauseating. Utterly sickening. It’s- I just- I can’t believe it.”

“hey, it’s ok Miss Peterson, please, take your time.” You pat her back in support, while your other hand searches within your deep pockets for a spare handkerchief. she takes it quickly, though she doesn’t use it right away. She first looks at the clenched handkerchief in grief, holding back a shaky breath and her shoulders shaking from sadness.Yet, it’s to no avail. Drops of water still slid down her eyes and she tried to catch a few tears that were making a waterfall on her rosy cheeks. “ my father was no innocent soul, I know this. He's always been a bit of a brute and a grump. But when I looked into his eyes? When I saw how the light faded, how his brows weren’t all furrowed like it usually was? I- I just couldn’t take it. I couldn’t comprehend it. All that was going through my mind was just one question. was this all worth it ?”

“What do you mean?”

She hesitates for a moment, fiddling a bit more with the handkerchief before clearing her throat and taking a deep breath.

“he wasn’t just a baker his entire life.” she says. `` he had enemies. More than I could count or know in a lifetime.”

“What exactly was his job before the bakery?”

She goes quiet for a moment, her lips sealed tight. Her eyes dart around for a moment until she finally looks down again, her face emotionless. “I don’t really know. I just know that it was bad.”

One thing you noticed this entire conversation was how she never met your eyes, and how now her tone shifted as well. she first sounded heartfelt, full of spiraling emotion. Yet now she’s as calm as ever, as if she has finally collected her thoughts, or maybe, a realization has struck her.

You hum, letting the silence take over the conversation as you look at the glass panel behind you, observing the crime scene through it.

“it’s fine, miss. You’ve already done enough. '' you get up and give her a reassuring smile. “ I won’t pull on your leg for too long. after all, it’d be cruel of me to force a grieving person to give a full-detailed autopsy now, wouldn’t it?”

She doesn’t say anything back, only looking at you with a pleading expression of sorts, hoping that the case doesn’t end up as an unsolved disaster.

“don’t worry, miss Peterson. I won’t let this case remain a dud. “ you smiled. “After all, it’s my job to unveil the truth. no matter the cost .”

Somehow, her frown has seemed to deepen from that.

----

You were never really fond of radios.

Which, in hindsight, has now become a big issue for you, hasn’t it?

The culprit of your new case, the infamous radio show host Alastor looks at you with incredible amusement and a tinge of disdain. He gives a few glances to the cops circling around him, one youngling newbie holding a notebook with shaky hands while the other with a black eye giving him an ugly stare. He grins at the elder, tilting his head in mock and then looking back at you once more.

“You sure you want to be alone with him?” Lington, who was beside you asked. “there’s a certain look in his eyes that I don’t quite like.”

Curiosity gets the best of you, and you stare deeply into the man’s eyes. Swirls of brown that reek of confidence, of finding joy in this entire fiasco that has been laid upon this sweet bakery. His eyebrows furrow. The only indication you have that he feels at least the slightest bit of negative emotions at the moment. Yet you can’t quite place the very emotion he’s feeling. Was it annoyance? Fear? Perhaps embarrassment from the way you’re just unblinkingly gawking at him?

You switch your stare to Lington. Giving Alastor a time to breathe. “ I get what you mean. but he won’t be honest with me if he thinks I’m working with you guys.” You then rolled your eyes. “ not that I ever wanted to be associated with you in the first place.”

Lington scoffed, tilting his cap down and motioning for the two officers to follow him out. “well, the floor is all yours, lil’ Sherlock.' ' he glanced behind him, seeing your sitting form beside Alastor’s, who was looking back at him with a cheshire grin. “tell you what? If he’s innocent then the next coffee’s on me!” he and his colleagues holler in laughter, leaving you groaning in annoyance and clicking your tongue as the door closes.

Silence takes over the room for a moment. You clear your throat and take out your hand.

“the name’s L/n. I’m a detective.”

By the moment you’ve mentioned your name- something in Alastor’s expression shifted. A flurry of emotions that left as soon as they came, leaving you with no real idea of he truly felt at the moment. He tilts his head back a bit, his then small small now becoming a grin, one which you couldn’t decipher what it meant. Warry or shock, it didn’t matter, for Alastor already put up his mask and is not one to show true emotions so easily, you’ve noticed. You could relate to that, in many ways than one.

“oh well isn’t this quite the shocking surprise!'' His voice was somewhat charming. Full of charisma and confidence, announcing things like it’s a show of sorts, like he’s a host of a competition, or to be exact, like he’s a true radio host. “ had it been in any other circumstance other than…well…” his eyes trail to the dimly lit kitchen around him, the sweet aroma making his nose scrunch up a bit in disdain. “ this. I would’ve counted myself quite the lucky man to be running into you!” he balled his hands together and put them on the table, his head leaning down a bit closer to yours. “ you are quite infamous around the city, you do know that, yes?”

Holy shit - you are ? Frankly, you didn’t know that. You try to hide your shock. Shrugging carelessly and looking at your coat’s cuffs as you speak. “oh well, I’m just doing my job.” You put your hands together, placing your chin on top of them. All perfect for your new act. “fame doesn’t really matter to me.”

Alastor’s grin becomes a bit too sinister for your liking. “well of course it doesn’t!” he says with a punch of enthusiasm. His movements suddenly mimicking yours and placing his chin on top of his hands as well, all with a bit more bounce to it as yours, making his glasses tilt a bit with his movements. Yet, he gracefully saves the clumsy glasses’ bounce by leaning his head down a bit, all covering the incident as mere intent. or perhaps it was intentional and you are the one assuming it was an accident?

You couldn’t help but feel your shoulders tense up a bit. not even a minute in and he’s a;ready full of secrets, of locks barricading his every movement and leaving you barely any key to open at least one of them. He’s good . Far too good in this charmful act.

“why, I’m certain you’re quite distasteful towards it all.” he continues. “ after all, you’ve seen the very dark pits of it all. the bitter truth behind those glimmering pearls and shining lights where only rotten desires and pitiful beings lay waste. Controlled by their insecurities.”

“..aren’t you a celebrity too, Mr.Alastor?”

Alastor laughs. “oh heavens no! Most people don’t even recognize me unless I speak to them! Even then, it takes quite some time for them to rattle their mind for a link between my radio show and face.”

“but you’re an entertainer as well, are you not?” your brows furrow. “ You keep people’s attention all on you, their eyes as sharp as ever as they listen to your every word. you hide your true intent behind a radio, leading people to trust in your voice and never letting them see your true face, your true emotions towards a certain subject. “

Alastor slowly sits up straight, his head tilting as he chuckles at your statement. “I’m afraid I’ll have to disagree with you, dear detective.” His attitude shifts, from a carefree confident host to one of more malicious intent, a certain intimidation in his voice and movements that leads you to have more suspicious than before. “for you see, I don’t need to hide my face to make people trust me.” the bravery, the very audacity to say such a thing in an interrogation room leaves your hair’s on end, yet you do not falter. Just as he is keeping up his act, so do you. you do not shake, do not let out a gasp or break a single second out of your mask. You will not let cracks appear, for you see in his eyes that he’s a hunter at heart, and as soon as he sees an inkling of an opening he will pounce and tear off your skin with his teeth.

“Well then, Mr.Alastor. I’m going to be honest with you- and I hope that by doing that, you’ll cut the act for a moment and cooperate for at least this interrogation session. You see- I don’t think you’re the murderer.”

Alastor’s eyes widened a bit in intrigue. “And what makes you say that, might I ask?”

You lean back in your chair, your pointer finger tapping the table in thought. “I checked the crime scene before visiting you here. There were a few things that kept muddling my mind. First- is the way Mr.Peterson died. Two gun wounds, one in the head and the other in the chest. Yet, the neighbours said that they only heard two sounds at night. One was an hour before you have been seen leaving, where an elderly staying up for the night reading heard the sound of a car honk and assumed it was Miss Sasha’s boyfriend trying to sneak in to visit her again. the second sound was of Sasha’s scream, right around six a.m. you can guess where I’m going with this.”

“ Why, it is strange how they haven’t heard a gunshot, especially one fired twice.” he hummed.

“yes, and furthermore- The Second reason on why I don’t believe you’re the killer is the footprints I found at the exit door in this very kitchen.” You point to your right, between all the counters and ovens there lies a backdoor entrance. “ the footprints were not only covered in dirt, but from the form, it was obvious that it wasn’t yours..or at least- that’s what my guess is unless- '' you suddenly lean down. After a few moments, you come back up again. “nope,I was right. they weren’t your shoes. The size of that one was much larger. So the idea of you changing your wardrobe during the murder is out of the picture for now.”

Alastor stays quiet for a second. “…you could’ve just asked for my shoe size rather than suddenly trudging down the table, Detective.”

“eh, I’m not really a math guy.” You merely shrugged. “though I know my two points aren’t that strong, merely weak strings of questions that haven’t been answered yet, I just have this gut feeling- something that tells me that although you are an incredibly suspicious man,” his eyes squint at that. “..for this case, at least, you are not the murderer. So, Mr.Alastor,” you clasp your hands together once more and look at him with an inquisitive stare. “is my gut feeling correct?”

He stays quiet for a moment, a smile kept tucked on his face and at this point, you’re certain that smile is glued to him no matter what he does. His shoulder hunch up a bit as he straightens his seat, trying to make himself look taller, filled with confidence. “ I must say, dear detective, you are a strange one.” So he thinks you’re a weirdo now. How great. Well, he certainly won’t be the first in your life that thinks that, nor will he be the last. “but it’s always the strange ones that bring in the most entertaining of shows! Even when it comes to mundane tragedies such as this one.”

Mundane would be the last word you’d use for this, but nevertheless, you stayed qyiet at let him continue. “so I’ll be the one to quell your feeble worries, detective! you’re correct, I’m not the murderer.” This, makes you sigh in relief. “but, I think I have an idea on who it could’ve been.”

You looked at him confused, suspicious of his sinister energy as he spoke. Before you could utter another word, a sudden screech of wheels from outside catches your attention. You both got up from your seats, though you were more quick and hasty while he walked calmly with his hands behind his back. As you finally reached the entrance of the bakery, you could see a horde of cops round a blonde, scruffy-looking man, who had his hands up in surender, and his face beaten up.

“It’s me! I’m the murderer!” he screamed as he waved his hand up, awaiting his arrest.

“Allan?!” Sasha gasped, trying to find her way out of the hoard of cops to reach him. “Allan, what are you doing—“

“It's the truth, Sasha!” he gulps. Eyes darting between the cops that were just as confused. “ I-I’m the killer! Arrest me right now!”

Seriously, what the fuck is going on? the more you think of this case, the more you’re certain there are clues hiding in plain sight. A chuckle from the man beside you catches your attention, as he looks at the scene before him in pure delight.

“this has become far more entertaining than I could’ve anticipated.” He then glances back at you. “It seems like I was right, detective. you’ve truly made this an interesting story, one perfect for my radio show.”

You merely huffed, getting more baffled by the man beside you the more time passes. You decide to ignore his quip for now, for it’s obvious that this case doesn’t really involve him anymore, and he’s just a mere spectator in this silly mess. Your gaze catches Lington, whom after ordering around a few cops to arrest Allan suddenly comes up to you with an exhausted sigh.

“Well,” he huffed, shocked by the turn of events just like everyone else. “…I guess I owe you a coffee now, yeah?”

------

“This coffee is dogshit.”

In the quiet, garden-themed café, where only a tune of a jazzy broadcast can be heard from the radios, you smirk at Lington’s comment about the mug of coffee in his hand.

“at least it’s better than yours.” You quipped.

Lington gives you a blank stare before sipping a bit more of his coffee and grimacing from the taste. You hummed in the silence, taking a good gulp of your own coffee and relishing the caffeine that courses through you.

“still addicted to coffee, I see.”

“I don’t think that Allan kid is guilty.” You ignore his previous sentence. Lington’s frown seems to deepen from that. “ Nor do I think that Mr.Alastor is guilty.”

He gives you a baffled look. “What are you going on about?”

“three shots.” You said. “when I interviewed him today, he said that he shot Mr.Peterson three times. And when I asked him where specifically he was shot, he went all fidgety and then said he doesn’t quit remember, and that his aim was careless and quick.”

“don’t you think he might be just misremembering things?” Lington tapped his finger at the table in thought. “ afterall, it’s never a pretty sight, you know. watching someone die.”

“it’s exactly because how traumatic this situation was that I’m baffled he doesn’t remember it.” you countered. “ fresh traumatic events never really leave the mind, and it takes a very long while for someone to misremember this much from the crime. If it was just one little misremembering of a certain detail, like the time or words that have been said, I would’ve shrugged it off- but it isn’t that, Lington. The things he’s presumably forgetting are important details, information that can get us closer to completing the puzzle.”

“In other words, you think he’s bluffing.”

“precisely.”

“then if it’s not him then, who is it? Miss Sasha?”

You stay quiet for a bit before shaking your head. “it could be. But I don’t think she’ll be too fond of being accused of murdering her own father.” You swing your coffee mug a bit, letting the liquid within it swirl. “there’s also the case of—“

Lington lets out a shriek as hot coffee straight from the pot the waiter walking beside your table was holding spills all over him. the waiter apologizes profusely, all while his left hand shakes and becomes wobbly as he sets the pot down on your table.

“I’m so sorry sir—“ the boy apologizes once again, his messy hair and bags under his eyes underlying his exhaustion. He grabs a few napkins and gives it to Lington, who was still cursing a bit from the heat.

“fuckin’ christ- kid is your oven powered by the sun? this shit is so hot—“

As the two start to stumble while trying to fix the mess that’s been made, you took the time to analyze the waiter. His hands still seemed a bit shaky, though it has calmed down a bit by now. his name tag sparkled between the lights, the name ‘JAKE’ catching your attention almost immediately. His clothes were a complete mess, as if he wore them all in a hurry while opening up the café for customers. He looked to be around Sasha and Allan’s age- a youngling in his 20s.

“Jake! Stop annoying the customers!” a scratchy, grouchy and all in all old voice shouted from the other side of the room. The waiter soon shoves a few more napkins in Lington’s hands as he scurries away, all while promising to give a discount for the coffees you two have been drinking.

Lington huffs in grimace as he looks at the new state of his uniform, stained with coffee that will never wash off easily with just mere napkins. He then quickly looks up at you, his conflicted look switching to hopeful.

“do you still have my old coat with you?—“

“Absolutely not. I burned it a long time ago.”

Lington grumbles. Drinking the last bits of his coffee with his eyes glancing to everywhere but you.

-----------

“sir- we have a problem.”

Not even five minutes away from work and it seems like Lingtons troupe has already become an absolute mess. While others are just doing their jobs and warning the public to not interfere with the crime scene, a few are just standing there, behind the radio host giving him the nastiest stares. Yet Alastor’s back stays unturned and his expression remains unbothered. One could even say delighted .

“Mr.Alastor won’t leave…”

“So now that he’s scott free he’d rather stay ? “ Lington was baffled. “What's wrong with this guy?”

The colleague held back a scowl. “probably everything.”

You watch as Alastor’s eyes quickly land on you, giving you a slight bow of greetings while he ignores the threats and questions being thrown at him. The very act of acknowledging your presence and not theirs leaves the cops grumbling and giving up, leaving to approach their baffled captain who was unsure what to do now. With this in mind, you walk up to the radio host.

“It's a pleasure to see you again, Detective.”

“I've only been gone for half an hour.”

Alastor hums. “Has it really been only thirty minutes?” he glances at the cops, his smile becoming forced and hiding his irritation and urge to scowl. “ These people made it feel like an eternity .”

“well, I can’t argue with that.” You chuckled. “I’ve had my fair share of boredom from them, so I can get where you’re coming from- speaking of which- “ you raised a brow.``why are you still here?”

“Would you like to guess?” he mused, a smile turning into a grin.

You think for a bit, recalling the last conversation you had with Alastor. “…for entertainment?”

“ bingo!” He cheered far too enthusiastically at the crime scene. “ you’re correct detective. I’m here to be entertained. After all, I am a host of a popular radio show!” a radio show that you don’t know a lick about, nor have you heard anything about it. though, that could be just a problem, after all, you’re not much of a social person. It’s hard to trust people when your job revolves around doubting everyone. “I seek and thirst for entertainment! So of course I’d scour everywhere across town to find and feast on it! the more I find, the more I absorb and relish, the more I can attract eyes and ears to my show!” you won’t lie, his energy is contagious. A bit jarring? Perhaps. But nonetheless his hyped up energy leaves you with a pump of motivation as well.

“And in any case,” he side-eyed the policemen. “since these people's untardiness has made me become tomorrow’s newspaper headline, I’ll have to take this to my advantage and salvage my reputation. I’m a respectable man of the community, so I can’t let a paper and misunderstanding ruin my image, don’t you agree, detective?”

“I can see why you’re worried.” You nodded, hands going back to your pockets out of habit. “Well then, I guess you’re going to stay here till the case is closed, yes?”

He hummed. “That is if the case will end today. “

“oh, don't worry, it will.”

Alastor’s eyes spark with interest. “oh? and why is that, detective?”

“because I already know who the murderer is.” Alastor’s head tilted in intrigue. “ I just need a bit more evidence to prove my claim.”

“is that so?...” Alastor straightened his coat. “then would you have the mercy to tell the ever-so-curious radio show host all about it? I’ll assure you that I’m no snitch.”

You put a finger under your chin and tap your foot, acting like you were truly considering such an offer. “..well..you did say you’re here to be entertained, yes?” you smirked. “then I guess I’ll have no choice but to keep you at the edge of your seat, Dear host. ”

Alastor’s smile, impressively so, widens at that. His eyes spark with delight, amused to find a bit of showmanship between your serious detective façade.

“Well then! I guess you won’t mind me tagging along on this case, yes?”

“I will. Though, only on one condition.”

Alastor nods away. “yes yes- I’ll make sure to put you in a glamorous spotlight as the hero detective-“

“no. no. I don’t need that.” You quickly cut him off.

Alastor looks at you baffled. Somehow confused about your decline at such a tempting offer, a worry that most people like you would have, a fear that captain Lington most definitely has.

“you speak the truth in your show. No glamour, no exaggeration, no lies.”

You expected a sneer, maybe even a scowl and a decline of your condition. For what Alastor said in the confession room was true, you have seen the ugly side of fame, you’ve seen the truth around your cases get tangled in lies and assumptions, you've seen careers of the rotten get bigger while the weak and innocent are left penniless. You’ve had multiple feuds, multiple heartbreaks and too many lawsuits about the entertainment of crime, the entertainment of death. You’d hate to see the culprits in this case in particular fall into any disgrace, especially considering how most of them are normal civilians trying to make ends meet. Yet, Alastor gave a smile- a somewhat genuine and charmed one. Charmed by your answer, it seemed.

“dear,” he said with a breathy chuckle. “ Have you ever listened to my show?”

“no.not really.” You don’t even own a radio to begin with.

“well then, you’ll be assured to know that my show is famous precisely for speaking the truth. Being ‘unfiltered’ as some may say.”

“oh, well then,” you give a goofy smile of your own. “this may be a perfect partnership.”

Alastor nods before adding, “why I believe this is a fated encounter, wouldn’t you agree?.”

“yes.” You couldn’t help but feel comforted by that idea. Fate. “ a fated one indeed.”

----

*Ring!*

The little chimes of the doorbell catches the woman’s attention, turning off the bud of her cigar by pressing it down on the counter and telling her dear gossip friend Emillie that she’ll call later. She sees the two ever-so cartoonishly well-dressed individuals be distracted by the racks of clothing, so she takes this as an opportunity to chew up some gum to annihilate the tobacco smell.

“Welcome to Claudine’s Boutique, where the clothes are neat and the rent ain’t cheap.” Her elbows lean down on her counter, a strand of her curly black hair moving out of the tucked place behind her ear and falling into her face. “what can I getcha’?”

“it’s a pleasure to meet you madame.” You smiled, reaching out for a handshake. “the name’s Detective L/n. “

“oh?” her tone is a bit surprised, as she accepts your handshake and gives you a good-old up and down look. “ never knew Detectives were the fashionista types.”

“Oh no, I’m not here for a wardrobe change.”

Claudine stays quiet for a moment. She looks at your clothes once again then back up to you. “you sure?”

To that, you give a slightly-offended and more-so embarrassed huff, all the while your new partner in the case, ever the gentleman Alastor seems to lose his façade for a moment and holds back a chuckle from her comment.

“yes. I’m certain .” You clarified. “ I wanted to ask you about Mr.Peterson’s murder that happened last night..you have heard about it, I’m sure.”

“how could I not?” she scoffed. “it’s all everyone’s been talking about today. You can’t even call one friend without hearing the news.” She tucks her lost strand of her away once more. “ this neighbourhood ain't never been a quiet one. And I reckon it never will be. People round’ these parts only care for three things. Money, reputation and drama.” She sighed, before gnawing a bit with the gum in her mouth and continuing once more.

“I’ve grown up around these parts. Never really left the place. Guess it’s all because of that darn curse everyone firmly believes in.”

“curse?”

She looks back at you surprised. “haven't you heard?” her eyes then spark in slight realisation. “hm, well it is your first day on the case. Guess I’m your first bystander for questioning?”

You nod. Claudine hums in thought, hesitating on saying a word until she finally bites the bullet.

“People who start livin�� here all get struck by tragedy in one way or another. Death around here is like a plague with no cure. They say it’s a way to make you stay here forever, to make you cling to the remaining memories of your loved ones.”

“Have you lost someone dear as well, Madame?” Alastor chimed.

Claudine’s mind seemed to be stuck in memory-lane. “my sister.” Was her only answer.soon enough she sighed and continued before even one of you could give your condolences. “ Mr.Peterson was one of the people affected by this curse. And now? his daughter will pass on the curse it seems…poor Mr.Peterson. he may have been…well..not the best neighbour round’ these parts but..he had his soft moments. I can’t help but feel pity for the guy, y’know? He wasn’t always like this.”

“Is his bitter behaviour related to the ‘curse’?”

“Well aren’t you smart?” she deadpanned. “ his wife left him for another man, then died a few years later. Never been the same since.”

“I see…” you quickly take out a notebook and pencil from your pockets, quickly writing this down while your foot taps the floor. “well, is there anything else we should know?”

“depends.” Claudine smirked. “you gonna buy anything?”

Alastor chuckled. “I like her.”

“if that’s the case then why don’t you buy something then?” you offered.

“oh- heavens no! I already have far too much clothing in my closet that has seen the light of day yet.”

“and I’m not looking forward to dressin’ up him.” Claudine chimed. “mister charmer over here doesn’t need any help with fashion, that’s for sure.” Alastor grinned at hat, confidentiality fixing his bow tie while looking at you all smug. “oh no, I want to dress up you , detective.”

You froze for a moment, the tapping of your foot no longer coherent.

“I- I uh…no thank you?” you failed at giving a proper response. “I’m quite fine with how I look now.”

“you mean scratched up and baggy?” Claudine mused.

“wrinkled and worn out?” Alastor added.

“divorced and in their thirties?”

“common bar customer?”

“chased by a b-“

“OK OK. I get it. I look disheveled.” You grumbled.

“When was the last time you even bought new clothes?” Claudine asked.

You fell silent for a moment, the answer bringing up bittersweet memories in your head. “..uh..a pretty long time ago..I guess…” you went quiet, taking the time to pass away all the memories in your head inside a chest that will not see the light of day for a few more years. “alright fine, I guess I do need new clothes…but the coat stays on!”

Claudine hummed, looking at your form up and down again, yet this time her gaze of boredom was replaced with one of passion. “I can work with that.”

----

Cufflinks of white lace, long sleeves of a light brown all neatly tied with a black bow that replaced your previously messy tie, the wardrobe Claudine picked out made you feel like a child of victorian times who's been meaning to go on a picnic. Your once practical and almost a decade old shoes (‘they’re sturdy and usable!’ you argued) are now replaced with shiny new black ones, ones that gave you the urge to tap dance and sing in the rain with. Your once comfy pants that were a size too big for comfort’s sake were now replaced with a normal black pants,and as promised, the coat stayed on, though not before Claudine tried to clean it up a bit with items at hand. (“why don’t you give it to a dry cleaner?” she had asked once while trying to tear off a dirt stain at the ends of the coat . “ never had the time for it.” you shrugged.)

“well?” from his tone, you could sense that Alastor was pleased with the new look. “a penny for your thoughts detective?”

You hummed a bit, toying with the ends of the bow while looking at yourself in the mirror. It felt different, that’s for sure, yet it also didn’t bother you at all.not one bit. you actually quite liked this new outfit, though the bow felt a tad too excessive for a serious job like yours. The outfit defines a new era, a new you, a whole new detective after two years of working without him . a detective that doesn’t need to hide in the shadows of their father no longer. Something felt right about this change, about this new look.

“It ain't half bad.” You muttered. Claudine scoffed at that.

“ ‘ain't half bad?’ you look like a prince charming now!” Claudine grinned. “not too bad of a job, if I do say so myself.”

Alastor walks up to you, looking at the mirror and fixing his own bow as his gaze falls upon your form in the mirror. “I must say, the bow suits you.” he mused. “but..there’s something missing. “

You turned around to face him directly rather than the mirror. “and what would that be?”

His smile turns into a grin as he gently grabs your chin and lifts up the ends up your lips. “ a smile!” before you could retaliate he lets go of your now shocked face and points to his own unshakable grin. “you’re never fully dressed without one.” He winked.

Albeit a bit weirded out, you still give him a small,worried smile. “better?”

“..it could use some work.” He hummed. “but it’s good enough as it is!”

“Good, then,” you take out the notebook and pen from your pickets once more and look back at Claudine. “Let's get back to the case at hand, shall we?”

----

The silence of the streets paired with Lington’s judgmental eyes proves to you that Claudine did an excellent job in her work. Perhaps a tad too excellent.

Knowing that Lington’s stare could last for hours if ignored, you give him a roll of your eyes.

“don’t you have a family at home, officer?” you knew that his gaze was anything but infatuation, yet couldn’t help but annoy him with even the very concept of him liking you.

However, Lington seems utterly unbothered. The only indicator you have of his discontempt is the click of his tongue. “what role are you playing this time, N/n?”

His mutter made you flinch, faltering in your ac a bit before giving him a signature smile.

“Did all that coffee get you drunk, detective? don’t tell me you spilled some ... .what do they call it now? oh right,- ‘ illicit beverages’ - in it.”

“ with the way you keep on changin’ the game? I might as well bring some.” He huffed in exhaustion, in hidden rage. “one minute I think we’re playing checkers, next thing you know it’s actually chess. The minute I want to move my piece I see that the fuckin’ pieces are gone and we’re playing dress up instead.”

“oh? so now I’m banned from buying new clothes too?”

“ just what the fuck are you doing Y/n?” Your jab goes unanswered. ” Why do you always gotta be like this? why can’t you cooperate with me?” with every syllable, Lington’s tone grows more desperate.” why can’t you work with us ?—”

“ — you know damn well why, Lington . ” For a moment, for a singular,almost fleeting moment, your mask is down, and your eyes look deep into his own. Into forgotten memories and broken cases. “ That's the thing. You know everything. You know why. Yet you still have the audacity to ask this, the fucking nerve to accuse me of not doing my work.”

“I don’t see where a change of wardrobe could be benefic—“

“I solved every single case I ever laid my hands on.” you tried to make your voice steady, desperately tried to sound like the usual confident detective you are. Yet your heart couldn’t help but shake, causing your words to waver. “ every single case. Except one.”

Something flashed in Lington’s eye. the gaze of a guilty man.

“and that one? Lington? That one case?” you thanked the heavens for letting you have at least control over the volume of your voice. If not, the shakiness would make people think you’re a broken person with a broken heart. An impostor stuck on a play with no backstage and no exit, with an audience that practically lives in their seats. In this moment, you weren’t a confident detective, you were an abnormally tall child with broken dreams, and a raggedy coat. “ that case haunts me . every . day. ”

Lington looks at you with a mixed expression. horrified, concerned, guilty and ashamed. It seems like the words you s[poke to him had left him with his mouth shut and his head hung in shame. Had it been anyone else, they'd feel pride over the fact that they had shut up a prick like him so well. Yet all you could feel was a deep, uncontrollable embarrassment that you needed to dispose of immediately. You need to leave. now.

“now if you’ll excuse me, Sheriff,” your tone quickly goes back to normal, and your expression once again a bundle of confidence and suave. “I have a poor rookie to annoy with some new details about the case. Details I’ve gotten from a certain seamstress .”

Lington takes one deep breath and groans at that. This time, it seems,that your jab has hit its mark.

----

“so…you’re telling me that Mr.Peterson had dealings with the hyacinth?”

“not just dealings lil’ rookie.” You turn around to him, right before going inside the dainty café you had a bad coffee at. “ he used to work for them.”

The rookie gasped at that, clenching his notepad a little tighter.

“and it wasn’t just him.” you dramatize the situation, enjoying the eagerness the rookie is showing for this case. “no no. the truth is more basic than that. It revolves around one thing only. The very thing that drives humans to do anything and everything all at once.”

“W-what's that?...”

You open the door. the cafés bell rings. “ love .”

“ Welcome to—... .oh,…” Jake, the employee without realising it, has done you a favour and threw coffee at the guy you hated most in this world, looking at you with a mix of dejection and hesitance. As if he didn’t want you to come back. “…back for more coffee, detective?”

You held back a wince from the mentioned coffee, looking around the room to spot a certain figure. When you see him, you're glad to know that he’s already charmed up the man you were supposed to interrogate.

“no no, just here to sit next to a friend.” You point to Alastor before grabbing the distracted rookie (from what he was exactly distracted by, you weren’t sure.) and ignoring the scorching gaze Jake was giving you.

The man behind the counter, an old barista with hands so quick you don’t even notice the glass he’s pouring the espresso in, was talking with Alastor with such glee and enthusiasm that one could almost forget that he was the same guy mere hours ago, angry and giving strict orders to his son for the little mistake he did.

Alastor's posture straightened as he saw your figure approach. “oh, there you are!” he then looks at the barista. “This is the friend I was talking about, Mr.Finch.”

He inspects you for a moment, his gaze hanging on your coat for a bit too long before he cleans his hands with a rag and holds it out to shake. “Well, any friend of lil’ Alastor here is a friend of mine.” He grins.” A pleasure to be meeting you.”

“likewise.” You shook his hand in return, an amused look taking over you as you looked back at the gentleman in red drinking his coffee. “it’s an honour to meet one of the friends of the ever so infamous Lil’ Alastor.” If you hadn’t had sharper ears, you would’ve missed the small grunt Alastor made as he choked on his coffee, trying his best to seem unbothered. He gives you a teasing glance, setting the espresso cup down and leaning back a bit as he listens to Finch’s hollered laughter to your comment.

“ I hope ya don’t think it’s from mockery, Detective.” he leans his shoulder on the counter, looking at Alastor like a proud uncle. “Lil’ Alastor and I know each other from church. Boy was I used to seeing this rascal glued to his mother no matter what.” He shook his head, nostalgic eyes stuck staring at the counter. “say,” he looks back up to Alastor again. “How's the church doin’ son? Any good news?”

“oh?” Alastor tilts his head in curiosity. “you don’t visit the church either,Mr.Finch?”

“guess were both sinners now, ey?” Finch jokes, yet Alastor merely hummed.

“Well, you can’t blame a child for not visiting church in his elder years.” Alastor replied. “After all, I was just there because my dear mother loved taking me with her.”

“Guess you’re right.” Finch shook his head, motioning for you to sit down. You of course obliged.

“Espresso or latte?” he asked.

You hesitate. Your mother’s sweetly saccharine voice echoes through your head. Still remember what he always ordered no matter the consequence.

“espresso, please.” You preferred latte.

“another espresso lover, eh?” he joked.” Say- how did you even meet lil Al’ over here?”

“We actually just met.” Alastor mused.

“ seriously ?”

“yep.” You nodded. “ Mr.Alastor over here was being accused of Mr.Peterson’s murder.”

Finch flinched, his quick and proficient movements of coffee-making artistry coming to a halt as he listened. Therefore, you continued. “He was unfortunate enough to be the last customer he had that day…and hadn’t it been for the murderer stepping in to confess to the murder, he might as well have been behind bars.”

It’s quiet for a moment. Finch then speaks. “…and who was the murderer?”

“his daughter’s boyfriend, it seems.”

*CLANK!! *

Everyone’s head shifts to the noise, and a wide-eyed, left-hand shaking Jake looks back. first at you, then at the mug, then at Alastor but soon his eyes switches to Finch once more.

“ Jakey —“ Finch grumbled. “how many times do we gotta go through this? be a little more careful!”

“sorry…” Jake mumbled, obviously used to such a scolding. He takes a breath and cleans up. Soon, the atmosphere shifts back into normalcy and Finch starts telling silly tales he has about his church days and his hard time with coffee-brewing at the start of his career. Something about his family all having the same tick of having ‘shaky hands’ whenever stressed, passed down through generations.

As the atmosphere quieted and your espresso gave you a bitter boost, your eyes lingered on two framed pictures right beside the coffee brewers.

Two young men, smiling while pushing each other around. On their jackets, a certain pin caught your attention.

“whose that?” rookie pointed to the other picture curiously.

“oh, this?” Finch picked it up, looking at it with a perplexed gaze before setting it on the counter for everyone to see.

“It's our family.” He simply stated. “ me, my son jakey, and…my wife Linda.”

Something in your brain clicked. The wife. Linda. She looked awfully familiar.

She resembled Miss Sasha.

----

Fathers are complicated beings.

Parenthood is difficult. You must be emotionally open about your own feelings to understand the child’s. and for most men who have repressed their emotions for decades, such a thing becomes far too difficult to understand. Which is why they made excuses, why they claim that their responsibility merely revolves around working outside the house, to gain enough money to buy weekly essentials and pay the rent. Most fathers fear emotional connection so badly that they’d rather stay in a dead-end job rather than trying to reason with a crying child. Trying to understand why they’re so deeply saddened by such a simple thing. Something that they’d get punished for liking, let alone crying for it.

Your father was different. He was worse.

He saw you as the next heir to the family’s work. The next-in-line that must be trained no matter the cost. So rather than ignoring your needs and hobbies, he berated you for them if they were anything unrelated to detective work. If it’s not chess or puzzles, then don’t play it. if it’s not a mystery book, then don’t read it. Why are you crying? Crying is for the weak. Crying is for the confused. We’re not ignorant, that’s why we’re never allowed to live in bliss.

Safe to say, your relationship with your father has always been…complicated. To the point where you’re not even sure how you feel about him. let alone how you feel about his death.

Perhaps that’s why you knew exactly who the culprit of this case was the moment you locked eyes with them.

“alright, spit it out L/n.” Lington looked at you with annoyance. “ Why'd you make me bring these youngsters here? " especially one that’s still grieving.”

Sasha looked away. Allan took her hand in his.

Ever the nosy, Alastor also stayed behind quietly, leaning on the counter. He shared a knowing look. It seems like he cracked the case as well. ‘ of course he had’ you thought. ‘ This murder case is simple. The most tragic cases always are.’

The only reason you decided to walk around the street and ask around was so you could get the whole picture, so you could understand things from the murderer's point of view. What kind of pressure were they in, what drove them to do such a thing? Because for this case in particular, you know that the murderer in question is no derived psychopath, nor are they someone out for blood-filled revenge.

They were just a simple baker tired of their cage.

“Let's go over this one more time,” you put your hands in your pockets, walking around in circles as the gears in your head churn and your mind sets up a small play.” The neighbours say they heard two sounds that night. The first one happened right after Mr.Alastor left, so as you know, Alastor is out of the list.”

Alastor nods in delight. “Thank you, my dear.”

“Then, all was quiet in the bakery. As Miss Sasha noted, she went back up to get some rest while his father stayed down and cleaned the place up…but that’s where you lied. Miss Sasha”

“what?”

“the neighbours said they heard a car honk. But they weren’t appalled by it because they’re used to it. your boyfriend Allan was there to pick you up, wasn’t he?”

Sasha’s eyes darted around nervously. “I…”

“That's why he immediately came here and confessed to the murder, even though no paper or radio has even talked about it yet. After all, this seems like a dead-end case, doesn’t it? all the clues are random, the only suspect they had was the unfortunate last customer, and the captain was a huge buffoon who accused anyone on the street of being the murderer just so he can get to go home sooner!”

“hey now that’s—“

“ BUT you got unlucky,” You continued with more enthusiasm, ignoring Lington’s defense. “ You see, you didn’t think that an experienced Detective would take a look at this case, would even bother to solve it..and you’re right. I really wouldn’t have. The only thing I would’ve bothered to do was convince Lington that Mr.Alastor isn’t the murderer -which I did - and then leave. But…while inspecting the body…” you take out a pin from your pocket. The purple on it shining bright. the shape resembling one of a hyacinth flower. “I noticed this, right inside Mr.Peterson’s apron.”

Jake,who was awfully quiet the entire time, gulped. Sasha took a deep,stressful breath while Allan put his head down in shame. Lington, on the other hand, seemed visibly shaken. All while Alastor merely tilted his head in curiosity and amusement.

“The hyacinths are infamous for giving out these pins to all its members.” You state. “ there are a lot of fakes out there…so the hyacinth’s made sure to add something subtle yet visible enough to point out the real from the fakes.” Despite all the protests from Sasha, you scrape the pin against the glass counter. An eerie sound fills the room for a moment until you’re finished. The glass counter has a scratch, yet the pin remains unscathed. “The centre of the pin,” you tapped it. “ it’s made from actual amethysts.”

“couldn’t you just prove that by putting it under a direct light?!” Jake protested, eyes furrowed in pure annoyance by your antic.

“Meh,thought I could prove my point better this way.” You shrugged. “Also this was funnier.”

While everyone grumbled in response to that, Alastor merely chuckled.

“moving on. Yes, this is the real deal. Which means, whatever happened here, might’ve been caused by the hyacinth. Or at least- that’s what my hunch was at the start. So, knowing that Sasha here was lying to me about a few things, and Allan was so gullible that he didn’t even know how many times he shot Peterson, I knew something else was afoot. Which- this leads us to one of the main questions of the day. How did no one here the gunshot?” you point to the pin. “well, this is your answer.”

“huh?” Allan said in pure confusion. “am-am I the only one that doesn’t get what’s going on here?”

Everyone stayed quiet.

“shit. I am?!” he gasped. “How is the pin related to the noise exactly?”

“the hyacinth,” you looked at him sympathetically. “Are infamous for their ‘game-changing’ equipment. Their silent guns. It’s the reason why they stayed on top for so long. just like the pins, only members of the gang would ever be equipped with these. Mr.Peterson’s own gun was found under the cashier counter, probably stored there for whenever a robbery happens. But that leads to the next question. whose gun was this?”

You point to Jake.

“That was exactly answered when I visited your café. The second framed picture, the one Finch didn’t show…two men were on it, both with the hyacinth pins.” Jake couldn’t help but sigh at your words. “ it was pretty easy to connect the dots…especially after considering what Miss Claudine told me at my visit. “

“according to her, two hyacinth members one day fell in love with the same girl and dropped everything to be with her. It’s an action that led to obvious misfortune. Ah- before I continue…how old are you Jake?”

Jake hesitated for a moment before answering. “nineteen.”

“And you, Miss Sasha?”

“….twenty-three.”

You snap your fingers in realization. “so, Linda, whom I assume is the girl in the old rumours, chose Mr.Peterson. They had a simple life together, and I’m guessing Finch couldn’t just turn back and start over again, not when he has just started a new business and bet everything on it. and so, they stood head to head in business, while awkwardly avoiding each other outside of work hours. a pretty simple story, yes? But, something was unaccounted for. You see, Mr.Peterson had… a bit of an anger problem. Something that, I’m sure Linda has become fed up with and got a divorce. And so, she went to the only person she could trust, while also being able to keep an eye on her daughter’s safety. You can all guess what happens next.”

“this, leads us to one common knowledge about the Peterson family that everyone in the neighbourhood knows about. Peterson was incredibly protective of his daughter. Especially ever since Linda’s mysterious death. Which, leads us to motive.” You look back at Sasha. “Miss Sasha, your father didn’t approve of your relationship with Allan, did he?”

“...is this information really necessary? There’s a reason why I didn’t mention it.”

“did you not mention it because it’s unnecessary or..did you not mention it because it gave you a motive ?”

Sasha stays quiet. All eyes settle on her.

“listen, I won’t force anyone to over-share their private information, nor would do I want to go into details about the other rumours I heard from Miss Claudine…like I’ve said before, whether I was here or wasn’t, wouldn’t have mattered. Because in the end, no matter how long it would've taken, the truth would be revealed. Some detectives would scroll through all the unsolved cases in the cabinets and immediately figure out who the murderer was. so, it's best to come out now with whatever parts of the truth you want to be revealed, rather than being forced to say every single detail of it and perhaps even getting a longer sentence for having it remain hidden for so long. “

Jake, who was visibly shaking, came closer to you as an act of intimidation. “Now you listen here, ‘detective’.” His tone was as shaky as his hands were. “ you don’t know the shit we’ve been through. And you don’t need to know. I swear if you keep pressing on about this I wil-“

“It's over, Jake.” Sasha’s voice was cold, exhausted from the world around her. “We've been caught. It’s over.”

Jake stays quiet. His breath heavy and tears threatening to fall.

“…our mother was… complicated .” Sasha spoke solemnly. “ she lived a completely sheltered life..to the point where she never noticed those red flags my father possessed ...which is why I didn’t want to turn out like her. I didn’t want to sit around waiting in a small bakery like she did. Living my life with naivety until my father decided who he should marry me off to..so..I used to sneak out a lot in my life..which...led to a lot of unsavory fights and threats…at some point, I just couldn’t handle it anymore. I mean- the man wouldn’t even let me continue my studies at least. He wanted me to stay here forever, continuing the business till the day he dies…so…I took the matter into my own hands and sealed his fateHe won’t let me go till he dies, right? well, I’ll just push the grim reaper a lil bit, force him to take my father’s life sooner than what god has planned.”

“but I knew that if I killed him, it would be too obvious..so I needed someone else to shoot the gun instead someone people would’ve never suspected, someone who would remain unseen…that’s when both Jake and Allan offered to shoot for me…I didn’t want to put any of them at risk, but I knew that if I wanted to be free, I had to take up their offer and choose between them. I couldn’t possibly choose Allan, because the neighbours would obviously assume he was the murderer right from the start. How many times have we heard the same story ? ‘loverboy kills unapproving parents to get to the love of his life? ’”

“oh, those stories are always a bore.” Alastor quipped.

“but Jake? No one outside the neighborhood knew my relationship with him. and I was certain that no cop would look that deep into it..not if I acted completely clueless and kept my mouth shut. Of course, I didn’t mean to immediately kill him at first…that was plan B. the original plan was to convince him to let me leave. Allan brought the car, I packed my luggage and soon after the first customer left, I told him everything. He of course blew up. started shouting out nonsense while beating the hell out of Allan…I panicked and called Jake, telling him to come over immediately through the exit…right at that moment he was tending to the small garden at the cafés backyard.”

“hence the dirt-covered footprints..” Lington mumbled.

“It all went by so quickly…one moment, Jake was rushing into the café with a gun…the next, he shot my father twice. One accidentally on the shoulder, the other right above his head to seal the deal.”

“then, I saw you two at the café.” Jake continued. “I knew that you being there meant bad news…but I just..didn;t know what to do. hell I didn’t even know what exactly happened. Only that you were looking deeper into the case. It was at your second visit that I finally realised what was going on..but...”

“It was too late.” You concluded. “and with that, this case is closed .”

----

“I…I don’t get it detective.'' The rookie looked frustrated and deeply confused. “why didn’t Miss Sasha just shoot Peterson in the shoulder and make a run for it? why was she so certain she had to kill him?”

“…we’ll never know.” you shrugged. “but...when you see someone so sure about killing their own caretaker…imagine what the caretaker must’ve done to force them to take such leaps.”

Rookie stays quiet at that, scribbling everything down so he could write it all in a coherent page later for the station. You leave him be, leaning back at the wall, watching both Sasha and Jake get under handcuffs and ushered into the cars. You take a mental note to talk to Lington later about somehow helping them get a convenient sentence. Perhaps with a few pulled strings you both can convince the judge to send both Sasha to work at an elderly shelter, and for the main murderer, Jake, you can perhaps call up a few pals that can offer him protection. Though…that won’t be of much help. It’s the best you can do.

Something about that frustrates you.

This entire case’s conclusion, frankly, has been nothing but frustrating. Yet, you of all people know how bitter some truths can be. And the consequences of it aren't any less sweeter.

“What's befuddling your mind this time, Dear Detective?” the ever so confident and cheerful voice of Alastor snaps you out of your thoughts. “you seem quite exhausted.”

“ really ? That’s a shocker.” You scoffed, taking a deep breath as you try to let the exhaustion in your body fade away. Silence overtakes the place for a moment, a serene one that makes you gaze up at the now darkened sky. It’s when you see the stars that you realize that you’ve been out working for an entire day and you can feel your exhaustion flowing back in once more, as if it was never gone in the first place.

“I must say,” Alastor chimed in. “This story’s ending was quite…well, uneventful . Shocking, yes. But not the climax I was expecting.”

“…I was thinking the same thing,” you confessed. “but, that’s the truth with most cases.” your hands went into your pocket, gently touching the hyacinth pin in your hand. “ it’s not always like those dramatic antics that Sherlock Homes or Hercules Poirot find themselves in…don’t get me wrong, it does happen. Just…not as much.”

“Guess it’s my unlucky day.” Alastor grumbled, you couldn’t help but smirk.

“well, you should've known that today was bad news for you the moment you got accused of murder, Mr.Alastor”

Alastor was quiet for a second, a strange smile on his face. “…I guess I should have.” He swiftly turns around to you, the scenery that he was watching before it seemingly far too boring for his tastes now. “any good host of a radio show would know to dramatise the situation just to keep his audience's ears glued to the radio. “ he then sighed, a mischievous smirk on his face. “but I am a man of my word detective. I will say nothing but the truth, no matter how bitterly boring it can be.”

“thank you, Mr.Alastor.” you give him a genuine smile. “I hope you weren;t too bothered by following me around.”

Alastor gives a small smile on his own. He reaches into his pockets, pulling out a card and extending it to you. “Why, it was an absolute pleasure to be around you, my dear.” His eyes squint. “ I can sense that you have a deep sense of showmanship. You’re a fellow entertainer when you need to be. You just remained serious because the situation needed it. this part of your story was anything but a comedy, and you’ve accommodated to it wonderfully.”

“Color me charmed.” You mused, taking the card and inspecting it. His radio-show’s title was right at the center, his own name written beneath it in cursive.

“It would be a pleasure to have you listening in for tomorrow morning.” He then adds,” especially since you’re the very star of the show, my dear.”

You lock eyes with Alastor. Something beneath those brown irises intrigue you, something behind the charmfull act he’s putting on. He's right, you both are merely actors on a stage. Both filling in your roles to continue the show destiny has written for you. And something tells you that this won’t be the last time you’re meeting him. nor do you want it to be the last time.

“…I’ll think about it.” you bought a radio on your way back home that very night.

---A/N-----

RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH MY GOD OH MY GOD IM ALIVE HIIIIII

Ok before I yap for a few paragraphs lemme just say THAT THERE WILL BE MORE CHAPTERS WITH MUCH MORE ALASTOR INTERACTIONS I PROMISE. I JUST FELT LIKE THIS CHAPTER WAS NECESSARY BECAUSE IT’S BASICALLY AN INTRODUCTION TO EVERYTHING THAT IS ABOUT TO GO DOWN. IT’S A PROLOGUE FOR EVERYTHING AND I PROMISE THERE WILL BE MUCH MORE SHENANIGANS AND WAY MORE FUN CASES IN THE NEXT CHAPTER!!!!!!!!!!!

This was my first time ever writing a detective story, and obviously it has a few flaws. I would love any sort of thoughts and criticism on how to improve it. Though, do keep in mind that this story is more about relationships than it is mystery solving.The cases we’ll look through will be mere vessels for the deeper story, an incredibly complicated plot about two incredibly mentally ill and weird people finding themselves sickeningly obsessed. This is merely the beginning, and I cannot wait to see how you’ll all react when all the gears are set into place, and the angst machine starts working.

I’m planning on only having around three to give chapters related to the ‘human’ side of the story. Because yes, a little spoiler: a lot of the plot will be written down for after their deaths. But before that I decided that I must write the human part first, because without it the emotional weight of it all will be gone.

IF YOU SEE ANY PRONOUN TYPOS WHERE I WRITE SHE/HE RELATED WORDS RATHER THAN KEEPING IT GN FOR Y/N PLS TELL ME I'LL FIX IT IMMEDIATELY RAHHHH

COMMENT PLS PLS COMMENT PLS PLS PLS *gets shot*

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