Your clothes fall slowly
I'm a spy, a spectator
And the fan tearing you apart
I know it excites you to think how far I'll go
snap click snap click snap
He exhaled deeply as he took one more photo, his hands were shaking a bit.
“Did he see me?” he asked to himself and scoffed “Of course not”.
Victor Whitley lowered the camera and looked through the blinds with the naked eye. He felt like a stalker, but he wasn’t that, he wasn’t a pervert and he was spying on a man anyway.
No, he was investigating, that was all.
It was the first summer of what would be a tumultuous decade. The 80s, the decade of decadence, of big changes, of big fears. It would bring with it riots, protests, and pride parades. It would bring with it drugs and AIDS, and it would bring with it the music, the fashion, the movies...
But most of it was still far and it was especially far in that town, Moonridge, West Virginia.
A quiet town of polite yet closed-minded people, not too small, not too big. Surrounded by the Appalachians and with a bigger city just a few hours away, it had the necessary things, it was beautiful and quaint.
It was deadly boring.
Victor wished more than anything to go away, but at 25 he already felt trapped there.
He didn’t spend years at college studying journalism to end up working for his father on the local news, but there he was, trapped, bored, unsatisfied.
Nothing ever happened on Moonridge, it was as peaceful as can be and Victor found it humiliating to have to conform himself with being the local weather boy or the occasional reporter of happy news about a family of ducks or some other cute animal.
Then, they found that old bastard dead.
Mr. Williams was an old, really unpleasant man so, when he disappeared for a couple of days, no one searched.
“He probably is just drunk somewhere” they said.
And then he was found dead just outside of town, gutted like an animal, murdered.
No one lamented his death too much, he was rude, racist even for the town standards and a violent alcoholic. But they were scared, they hadn't had a murder in decades.
“Maybe it was just some random outsider that was passing by? You know, Williams just got in a fight with the wrong crowd?”
That was what they went with and what gave them peace. The local police were eager to agree to it. It was logical, right? Nothing ever happened on Moonridge.
Victor had wanted to report on it, but he was told no, that was news for the men with real experience, not for the weather boy.
Victor didn’t agree with the official statement either, it was so simple, so boring and also, weirdly, the whole ordeal reminded him of something.
He had studied some murder cases at college and one case in particular had always stuck with him.
The Crescent Killer.
A ritualistic serial killer from the mid-60s and 70s, never caught, very distinctive methods, he always took the same organs and left the rest in the open in very humiliating positions. Just like Mr. Williams.
“Don’t be dumb Victor, the dude was from New Orleans, and also has to be like 50 or something” he had said to himself while reading old news articles.
Was Mr. Williams missing organs anyway? Maybe, he wasn't sure and the officers didn’t want to tell him.
Why was he so hung up on it? He didn’t even see the corpse, only the photos. But still, he was attracted to the case, perhaps it was just the thrill of important news, but it excited him.
And he was going to let it go, because he was going nowhere with it, an insisting murmur in his head wanting for him to continue "Go deeper Victor, you'll find something, you'll be famous Victor" it said, nudging at his brain, at his sense of achievement, at his desire for success, and yet the logical part of said brain wanted to let it go, until he saw him.
Victor was at one of the only two restaurants in town, a diner of course, just in front of the only motel. The town had a somewhat fancy hotel up in the mountains, but the one he was looking at was just a simple motel for passersby, just besides the road that one would take to go to the city. Victor liked to watch people come and go, at least he could see different faces that way.
That man came out from one of the rooms.
A pretty man, somewhat on the older side, but still pretty, with dark skin, a lean body, and luscious curls arranged on some kind of pompadour. Definitely not a local, Victor knew everyone and there weren't any Black people in town.
Victor followed him as he crossed the parking lot and entered the diner. He moved so lightly, in long struts, like a delicate deer.
Victor had to have his mouth open like an idiot because that man noticed that he was being looked at.
“Is something the matter, boy?”.
“N-no, sorry” he stopped staring and looked at his coffee instead, embarrassed.
“Hmm”.
Even if he wasn’t looking anymore, Victor could tell that the man was smiling.
“What do you recommend?”.
“Wha-What?” Victor looked at him again, his heart going fast.
“You’re a local, are you not? What's best?” the man pointed at the menu.
“Oh!” Victor smiled “Well, the apple pie is good and the eggs Benedict are also pretty nice”.
“I see, thank you mon ami” he smiled and sat far away from him.
Victor was stunted, for such a bright smile that was, but... Had he spoken in French?
It had to be just a coincidence. Right?
The ritualistic killing of a white man?
Possibly, probably, missing organs?
A, maybe, a Creole man from Louisiana?
And he seemed to be the right age?
It had to be merely a coincidence. Right? Right?!
Victor stayed there, looking at him discreetly. He drank coffee after coffee as he observed.
The man ate alone and in silence, with delicate hands, elegant movements, small wrinkles on his face, and fangs in his mouth. Beautiful brown eyes behind golden frames.
He was too pretty. Feminine even. A dainty frame, a lovely face, small soft-looking hands.
He was definitely mixed, his nose was too perky and his face too delicate. He had loose curls instead of the thigh coils of Black men.
Victor found himself thinking all of that, ignorant of his own prejudice, in his mind he reasoned that such beauty couldn’t come from a fully Black person.
He stopped looking at him, flustered.
Beauty?
What was he thinking? It was a man who he was looking at.
He wasn’t one of those to be thinking like that.
The man went away and Victor followed him with his eyes again. He could feel his own heart beating, his mouth was dry. Victor ran away home, found his camera and...
And now he was spying on that man.
The Ridgeway Motel consisted of a single building with a U shape, with its parking lot in the middle.
The diner, of the same name, was just crossing the street and both were beside the main road.
They belonged to the same owners, possibly the second richest family in town. Victor’s was the first.
Victor, with the excuse of wanting some time away from his parent’s home, rented the room he knew was in front of that man’s.
The receptionist didn’t question it, everyone knew that Mr. Whitley was overbearing, of course his boy wanted some time alone.
And maybe it was partially true, his father was overbearing and he was having a good time alone actually, even if his spare time was wasted on spying on that man.
Every time he saw him through the blinds, his heart pounded like crazy.
He learned his routine very quickly. Started his day very early and returned to his room very late. Victor wished to be able to follow him, but he had work to take care of.
Did that man work? If he did it wasn’t in town.
What did he do all day? Maybe he worked in the city?
Victor couldn’t stop thinking about it, when he wasn’t in his line of sight, he was no doubt still in his mind. He felt stupid, he had no proof at all of his suspicions. It was just a gut feeling and nothing else, but he was unable to let it go.
He grew quickly obsessed.
Every morning he watched as he left his room and disappeared on the road in his fancy car.
Then he spent the rest of the days anxious until the night, when he returned and Victor could see him again.
Through the blinds he observed him, the zoom of the camera was his best friend.
He had hundreds of photos by now, of every angle of every detail, if he could only follow him, get closer, see more...
“You came especially late tonight” he complained in the dark.
His heart jumped every time that he, seemingly, saw him from the corner of his eyes, with a smirk on his pretty face.
But it was impossible, it was just imagination. Right? He couldn’t know that Victor was there, watching him.
“I love that you don’t shut your blinds” he murmured, his own room was pitch black and he was hot under the oppressive summer night.
The man opened his window, turned on the fan and started to undress...
Victor’s mouth was dry again, his heart was pounding once more, he was breathing heavily, and he felt undeniable arousal.
He was so beautiful, so delicate, prettier than any girl, and more enthralling than any woman.
“Fuck” Victor could barely talk, he felt like his heart was going to explode, but he kept looking.
His hands were red; his clothes were stained with blood.
And that excited him more. He was right! He was fucking right! And he... he was...
“What’s wrong with me?”.
He couldn’t stop looking, he took as many photos as possible until the man finally shut the blinds of his window and turned off the lights.
Victor didn’t sleep at all that night, he rolled in bed, aroused, almost feverish, laughing to himself like a maniac once in a while.
The next day he slept and that night he went to his place of work to develop the reels.
The Whitleys were the richest family in town, simply because Mr. Christopher Whitley, Victor's father, owned both the local TV channel and the local radio station. He was also the only reason for why they have those in such a small town in the first place.
While he developed the photos, he couldn’t manage but to stare at them.
Was he really a murderer?
Victor was conflicted with himself now, on one hand, that story could finally grant him a better position at the local news channel, or even some more important people in more important places could finally notice him, but on the other hand...
Well, he was intrigued by him, he wanted to know him better, dangerous as it was, if he was really a murderer and all that.
“What are you doing, Whitley?”.
Someone entered the darkroom and Victor took down the photos that were drying as quickly as possible.
Maybe it was dumb of him to use the darkroom that belonged to the channel. But what was that idiot doing there anyway? It was late at night.
“None of your business, Carter” he growled at his colleague “Go away, I’m busy”.
“What? You’re still pissy because Daddy didn’t give you the job?” the other man mocked him.
“Shut up, I’m not” but he was, it was the whole reason that he started all of that.
He wanted more, he deserved more, but his father didn't recognize his potential, his father didn't want to give him what was rightfully his.
“Is it not my fault that I’m more talented than you, Vicky”.
“Don’t call me that! And you aren’t, my father simply did yours a favor because no one wanted you anywhere else, Carter!” he said with as much poison as possible “Now, leave me alone!”.
Carter frowned.
“No, let me see what you are doing” he demanded, trying to take the photos from Victor's hands.
Victor tried to get away, but Carter managed to grab one photo from him.
"Who's this?" he asked, frowning under the red light “Is this n#%!@r your boyfriend?” he laughed “Oh, Vicky, if you’re going to be a f#%@t, at least it should be with a white one”.
Victor, with a cold smirk, grabbed a big glass bottle of stop bath and smashed it on Carter’s head.
Carter dropped instantly, but he was awake, just dizzy. His face was covered in glass, bleeding.
“Vi-Victor, wait...”.
“Oh no, poor Carter had an accident” he said, grabbing him by the arms and dragging him outside the room “It seems that he was carrying a glass bottle when he fell down the stairs like an idiot!”
Victor was strong, really strong. With no effort he dragged Carter to the top of the stairs, leading to the darkroom, and put him on his feet.
“Poor thing cut his face, broke his neck, cut his throat” he growled against his ear and then stabbed his neck with a piece of glass and pushed him down the stairs.
Victor stood there, contemplating his own work, he felt... proud of it. It had been easy and there was no feeling on it at all, it felt cold, necessary, and unavoidable.
“Interesting...” a soft voice said.
Victor tensed, but then HE stepped from the shadows, looking at the body at his feet with a big smile.
“Are you going to make it pass as an accident?”.
“Y-yes”.
“Mmm...” he looked at the body a bit more “Yes, I think that could work, well done”.
Victor blushed, even his ears and neck were bright red.
The man went up the stairs and stopped in front of him.
“I’m Alasdair, it is a pleasure” he offered his hand.
“I’m Victor” he said, his voice trembling “S-same” he accepted that hand, it felt as soft as he had imagined “Di-did you follow me?”.
“Crap, why am I stuttering so much?!”
“As you followed me, boy” Alasdair smiled.
“Fuck! He’s so pretty!”.
“I... I’m sorry?” Victor gave him an idiotic smile.
“It’s ok, I find all of this amusing, you’re interesting”.
Victor swallowed hard. Was he dreaming?!
“Come, mon ami, it is better to leave the scene of the crime as quickly as possible” Alasdair grabbed his wrist and dragged him with him.
They didn’t stop and didn’t talk until they were at that motel room.
Victor sat on a chair, suddenly he was feeling sick.
“You want to puke?” Alasdair asked nonchalantly.
“Yes, sorry” he was dry heaving already.
“It's normal the first time, don’t worry”.
Alasdair gave him a bucket to puke into and Victor did. From a moment that was the only noise between them.
“Better?” Alasdair asked when the noise stopped.
“Yes” he said, pale green.
“Good”.
Alasdair sat on the bed, legs crossed, and stared at him.
“Are you...?” Victor started to ask.
“I’m what, boy?” he smiled, the dim darkness of the room made it seem like his teeth were shining “A murderer?”.
“The Crescent Killer?”.
“Oh~ You know my title, I quite like it, you’re smart to have noticed, but I guess I wasn’t as subtle as I should have been”.
“I’m not sure that it is that obvious, it’s just... I don’t know, when I read about you it just stuck with me, I guess”.
“I see” he stared at him, analyzing him “You cut your hand”.
“Oh” Victor looked at his right hand, it was true “I didn’t notice”.
“Wait, let me heal you”.
Alasdair went to the bathroom and came back with a first aid kit.
“Give me” he asked for Victor’s hand with a gesture.
Victor gave his hand without hesitation.
“It is just a superficial cut. That’s good, with luck you didn’t leave your own blood there, they know how to analyze that stuff now”.
“Hmm, and what about my fingerprints?” Victor looked worried.
“Well, if your plan works, they won’t search for anything, especially in this pathetic little town”.
“That’s true, they barely looked at Williams... Why did you kill him?”.
“He was rude to me” Alasdair said plainly, starting to clean Victor’s wounds.
Victor squirmed a bit, the stinging pain from the alcohol, the feel of his soft hands and his pretty face so close made him feel a certain way.
“Why did you kill him?” Alasdair asked suddenly.
“I...” Victor thought about it for a moment “He got something that I wanted”.
“I see”.
“He also called you something ugly and called me something ugly and I didn’t like it” he admitted.
“Oh~, are you my knight in shining armor now? Or maybe my guard dog?” Alasdair practically growled that last word and smiled at how much it made Victor squirm “Calm down, boy” he tightened his grasp on his hand “I’m almost finished”.
Victor just nodded, red as a tomato and rock hard.
Alasdair finished cleaning Victor’s wounds and smiled, pleased.
“Done, now, to more serious matters...”.
“Y-yes?”.
“What are you going to do now?”.
“I’m not sure”.
“Hmm” Alasdair leaned back on the bed, using his arms as support “Do you want to do it again?”.
“Do what?” Victor was too mesmerized with him to think of anything clearly.
“Killing, mon ami, killing” he smiled.
Without thinking much, Victor leaned over him, his hands on the mattress.
“Would you help me?” Victor smiled big and bright.
Alasdair looked at him, he had fangs like him, a chipped tooth next to one made it look sharper. He had pretty mismatched eyes behind silver glasses and an attractive Roman nose.
“Sure...” he grabbed Victor’s tie and pulled “If you help me, Mon Chéri~”
A moan escaped Victor’s throat.
“Yes!”.
“Good boy~”.
Victor emitted a manic giggle before launching over him, capturing his lips, kissing him with desperation, Alasdair accepted him gladly and moaned softly in his mouth as Victor thrusted hard and with a clumsiness that disappeared quickly as they found their rhythm.
Alasdair embraced him with arms and legs, pulling his hair and clawing at his back.
Victor let go of his mouth and kissed and bit his neck, making Alasdair arch his back.
“Good boy~” Alasdair said again, moaning, inviting him to bite more.
They continued like that for a bit, kissing, biting, clawing, pulling hair and thrusting rhythmically, but when Victor tried to slip his hands into Alasdair’s pants, he stopped him.
“Let’s leave that for later, Mon Chéri”.
Victor pouted a bit, but stopped and got off from top of him, lying there in bed, looking at the ceiling fan.
“How old are you, by the way?”.
“Forty five”.
“Old bastard”.
“And you?”.
“Twenty five”.
“Little brat”.
They both laughed, held hands, interlocking their fingers, and fell asleep like nothing.
It was true that no one would look into Carter’s murder for a while and it was true that no local officer was interested in William's murder either.
But, far from there, a peculiar man was reading about that, seemingly, unimportant case in the middle of nowhere.
He closed the file and smiled.
“Riveting”.
We're on the edge of the ledge
Almost about to fall
You're not afraid
You keep smiling
I know it excites you to think how far I'll go
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